


What if I'm far from home?

by Whatisthiswhatamidoing



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ben Hargreeves Deserves Better, Ben Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Child Abuse, Gen, Good Sibling Klaus Hargreeves, Gore, Implied Sexual Content, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Incest, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Protective Klaus Hargreeves, Torture, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Violence, Well he tries, asexual Klaus hargreeves, because I don't know how to write allo characters, these tags makes this seem worse than it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 64,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatisthiswhatamidoing/pseuds/Whatisthiswhatamidoing
Summary: Klaus had spent his entire life terrified of ghosts, and when Ben died in his arms, he knew that he would be forever tortured by a ghost wearing the face his brother.Turns out, he was wrong. Mostly.Sure, Ben didn’t scream, or cry, or do anything that a ghost did. Technically speaking, it was almost as if Ben never died, he nagged at him like usual, and he whined and snarked and forced Klaus to entertain him like usual.It was almost as if he had never died. Almost. On good days, Klaus would nearly forget, until he looked over at Ben, and remembered that he was almost a whole head shorter than him, and he was still covered head to toe in blood. His victims’, or his own, Klaus never knew. If he wasn’t careful, his eyes would drift down to where the horrors' tentacles should’ve been, leaving an empty space where Ben’s guts spilled out and trailed behind him. Honestly, the worst thing about ghosts was that they would never change, were how they looked exactly how they did when they died, and Ben was no exception.orKlaus can't control Ben's appearance, so Ben never grows up.
Relationships: Allison Hargreeves & Ben Hargreeves, Allison Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Diego Hargreeves, Ben Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Diego Hargreeves & Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves & Reginald Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz, Number Five | The Boy & Ben Hargreeves
Comments: 138
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MalecAcid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalecAcid/gifts).



> hey guys!! so I have been wrestling with this fic for nearly a year now, and it's only thanks to em (malecaccid) that I ever posted it. huge HUGE thanks to her, she was the one who offered to edit it and bullied me into posting it 😔 ty so much em ily. Hope you guys enjoy it 👀👀

The alarm bells reverberated throughout the air, jolting Klaus awake for another mission. Groaning, he rolled out of bed, wincing against the sharp stab of pain in his skull that usually accompanied his hangovers. Despite the bells glaring in his skull, and his dinner threatening to make a comeback, he dragged himself out of bed, ready for whatever batshit mission dad was going to send them on now. 

They've been doing this for about four years, and being woken up at ass-o-clock with a hangover was unfortunately routine by now. Find whatever substance closest to him that would get him high, find his domino mask, and join in the line up so dad could tell them the details of the mission, and deem them worthy of going out into public to kill criminals. Routine.

They were silent as usual as they shuffled into the limousine that would drive them to fight bad guys, Dad didn’t like it when they acted ‘unprofessional.’ However, about ten minutes into the drive, he couldn’t take the boredom and silence anymore, so he bumped his shoulder against Ben’s. Technically, they were supposed to sit in numerical order with Klaus leaving space for Five, as if his brother was just late instead of missing for the last three years, but Klaus figured that if Five was here he would tolerate it with only a little bit of bitching. Especially since Ben was clutching his stomach tightly. _Very_ tightly. 

Sympathy battled through his haze of drugs to squeeze at his heart, and he leaned into his brother a little more. “You okay, Ben? Is the Horror bothering you again?” Ben started and quickly glanced over at the others, which was very rude of him, to think that Klaus wasn’t capable of being quiet. The Horror wouldn’t hurt them anyways, because they were Ben's siblings, and Ben loved them. He hoped.

“Don’t say its name." Ben hissed, but with only a quirk of Klaus’ eyebrow, he relented. “It's not bothering me more than it usually does before a mission.” He mumbled, but somehow Klaus had the sneaking suspicion that Ben wasn’t telling him the whole truth, but whatever. He could drag it out of Ben when they were done with the mission.

The limousine slowed down to a stop in front of a lab. How quirky. Because it was like, three am, and there weren’t any hostages this time, there were barely any press gathered at the front of the building. Just Gary the intern trying to get a good enough scoop to impress his boss. They started as they always did, with Number One gathering them into a circle to give each of them a job. Luther gave them the same positions he’d given them for the last four years, and though his words were rehearsed and carefully toneless, Klaus could read between the lines. 

_Three, you’re my favorite, so you can fight with me. Two can come as well, I guess. Six, you’re just here to kill the bad guys we round up. Four, you’re useless. Just hang back and stay out of the way._

Message received loud and clear, oh so knowledgeable Number One! 

He was fine with it, he was. He had come to terms with his uselessness long ago, and hey, it meant that he got to get even higher than he already was. He had only managed to drink about half a bottle of whiskey that was hiding in his laundry, and he would love to have a chance to snuff out the distant cries that were steadily getting louder. And hey, more bro time with Ben!

He leaned against a lab counter and watched the fight take place. It should be a quick mission for once, since they were fighting nerdy scientists who, what was it again? Were trying to genetically engineer a super soldier to take over the world? _Boring_. They weren’t even doing a very good job, their soldiers weren’t even stronger than Luther. He dodged a stray cryogenic chamber flung by one of the super soldiers his way, and set off to find Ben. Maybe he’d want a puff of smoke to help calm the Horror down?

“Hey Benny-boo? Where are you?” He sang, dodging a punch from one of the super soldiers, using his momentum against him to push him over to Diego.

“Four? Get out of the way!” Someone yelled, but Klaus didn’t really care enough to find out who it was. 

“I’m looking for Ben! Have you seen him?”

“H–he’s waiting for his cue!” Well, _that_ was real helpful, just tell him something that gave no indication to the location of his favourite brother. They probably wouldn’t need Ben anyway, it looked like they had everything under control. 

Ignoring Luther's growl of frustration when Klaus continued to pretend he didn’t exist, he scanned the horizon and noticed a dark shape behind a door frame that looked suspiciously like Ben with a tummy bug.

He jolted when Klaus tapped him on the shoulder, and whipped his head up to look at him. Klaus was surprised to find that his domino mask had been taken off. Dad had never allowed them to take off their masks in public, some sort of psychological mind-fuck that Klaus couldn’t be bothered to parse out, and Ben rarely disobeyed their father. He felt something stir underneath his high that felt something like alarm when he took in Ben’s red-rimmed eyes and the tears steadily dripping off his face.

“...Ben?” Was all he could think to say.

“I–I _can't,”_ He choked out, “I can't _let it out,_ Klaus, it won’t let me put it back in, I can’t control it.”

“It’s… ” He started, unsure. His high was making it hard to call back on what he would usually say when Ben was worried about the Horror, but the knowledge that slipped through the haze in his drug addled brain that insisted that Ben wasn’t just worried, but _terrified,_ made him keep trying. “You won’t need to let it out, the others are handling it pretty well.”

Ben stared at him incredulously. “Handling it well– Klaus, we’re _losing_. How high are you?”

High enough to keep the ghosts away for a good long while, that was all that Klaus cared about. But looking back, Luther _did_ sound a bit worried when he called for him to get out of the way. Almost like he was scared that Klaus would get hurt or something. Diego was _definitely_ more bloody than usual, now that he thought about it. And wait, where was Allison?

Feeling like he was falling out of his body, he turned to look for Allison, but there was something wrong with him, he couldn’t take in what his eyes were seeing. What sort of lookout was he? What if Allison was dead and it was his fault? He stumbled to his feet desperately, knocking his head with a trembling hand as it became harder and harder to breathe. His heart pounded as he blinked once, twice, in an attempt to clear his vision. What the hell was happening?

He distantly registered that Ben’s pained groans were teetering on the edge of screams, but Allison was more important right now. With the beat of his heart drowning out almost all sound, he willed himself to make sense of the shapes and colors he was seeing. 

Suddenly, he blinked and everything slotted into place. Allison was lying on the ground, probably unconscious. Not dead, _unconscious._ And there was a man standing over her, pointing a gun right at him. He blinked again, and he almost missed the orange flash that came with a bullet being fired as something crashed into him and the world turned upside down.

He was on the floor, and there was something heavy on top of him, and he could see Allison’s hand out of the corner of his eye, and Ben was _sobbing_ above him– and that was the last straw for _Them._

When they were little, dad had told them all how dangerous the Horror was, and how it killed anything it met, which had confused him greatly. He met the tentacles in Ben’s stomach before to play, and the Horror was always nice, poking his arms and gently squeezing his tummy. Turns out he was half right. The Horror remembered him, remembered that Ben loved them, and the tentacles barely brushed over him before they figured out who he was.

He barely processed the tentacles sweeping over the lab, looking for anyone to kill, but the man who shot Ben was the last one alive, quickly taken down by Diego's knife. There wasn’t anyone else for the Horror to kill. Distantly, Klaus thought that should be it, the Horror didn’t have anybody to kill because it knew Ben cared about all of them, it wouldn't hurt them. It wouldn't. Ben loved them.

But– Ben _hated_ himself.

He couldn’t see, thank fucking _god_ he couldn’t see, but he could _hear_ Ben’s screams, the crunching and the squelching as the Horror tore into its host, the sound reminding him so horribly of all the times the Horror killed. Warmth spread onto his back as the stench of iron invaded his nose. Was it good that he couldn’t see? Did it make him a horrible person that he didn’t want to see what the Horror was doing to his brother when the _sounds_ would haunt him in his dreams for _years?_

It felt like it took forever and an instant until the Horror left, and Ben collapsed on top of him, somehow still in one piece, though horribly, horribly broken.

There was a horrible pause, where everything was still. His ears were ringing from the sudden absence of Ben's cries. He was completely silent now, somehow still breathing, his breaths coming laboriously into Klaus’ ear, and _oh god that was Ben, that was his brother bleeding all over him, get him off, get him off, off off off._

“Off.” He squeaked, barely audible, but it seemed to jolt everyone into moving. It felt like years until someone carefully rolled Ben off of him, and Klaus could barely process that it was Diego, shaking like mad. Luther was in the corner with Allison who was slowly stirring. Klaus couldn’t bring himself to look at Ben. 

“I’ll–I'll–I,” Diego stuttered through a sob, pointing desperately at the door. He was going to get dad. That’s right, that was a good plan, get dad so he can get them to mom so that she can fix Ben and everything will be fine.

“I’ll stay with him.” He interrupted. Ben would scold him for that later, when he recovered and they told him what happened while he was out. Diego just nodded, and left.

He was the worst lookout _ever,_ Klaus thought dully, pulling Ben’s head into his lap. Feeling like he was not quite real, he brushed Ben’s soaked hair away from his bloody forehead and he almost shit himself when Ben's eyes snapped open. “Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben.” He chanted, jolting forward, curling up to protect him from the world. This was good, this was very good, if Ben was awake now, then that meant he _would_ survive this. _He had to._ Ben didn’t move, didn’t say anything, just gasped for breath as tears leaked out of his eyes, and that was okay, Klaus could tell him dumb jokes like he always did when Ben was upset. He would act his stupid, dopey persona for the rest of his life if it meant that Ben would laugh, if it meant that he would forgive Klaus for letting him get so hurt.

“Hey, hey Ben.” He forced out, watching his brother’s face as his eyes rolled over to look in Klaus’ general direction. That was good, that would be good enough, as long as he could hear him. “Did–did I ever tell you about the time someone thought that I was a prostitute?” He was pretty sure he already told this story, but something changed in Ben’s face, and Klaus chose to believe it was mirth. “Y–yeah, I was just walking, y’know, minding my own business, and then this guy came up and asked me how much I was!” That gasp there sounded like a huff of laughter, and that was good, he was doing good, he was keeping Ben’s mind off the pain until Diego came back. “Like, like what about a sixteen year old in a school uniform screams whore for sale at you?” He couldn’t hold back a sob this time, and Ben coughed blood out of his mouth, so much that it leaked down his chin. “Oh, oh no,” he murmured. “Don’t do that.”

He lifted up his cuff to wipe it away, but an iron hand gripped his shoulder and threw him away. "Don’t fucking touch him!” Luther screamed, and Klaus felt his heart stutter in his chest as he looked up at Number One. He’d never seen him so out of control. “This is your fault! If you never got high this wouldn’t have happened!” 

“Luther–” Allison cut in, but was quickly cowed by his glare.

Luther turned his gaze back to Klaus. “Stay the _fuck_ away from him.” 

All he could do was sit there and shake as Luther turned to Ben and started to beg for him to stay conscious. Allsion grabbed hold of his shoulders, pulling him up. His shoulder protested and Klaus distantly noted that Luther must have pulled it. She guided him back into the limousine, and collapsed into his chest, sobbing. Klaus absently hugged her.

Ben would be fine, right? 

* * *

Vanya’s brothers and sister were usually pretty bloody when they came back from their missions. The price of being useful, she supposed. She stood beside Dad as her siblings stood in numerical order in front of them, giving Dad their mission report, though she barely heard a word. Her attention was taken by the fact that there were only four of her siblings in the line. Where was Ben? Maybe it had something to do with Klaus being so bloody. She stared, morbidly fascinated. Usually when they came back from missions they were allowed to clean themselves up before giving their mission report, and Klaus typically was quick to steer Ben into the bathroom, probably as an excuse to avoid talking to their most useless sister, as Ben was perfectly capable of washing the blood off himself.

Was this how Ben usually looked after missions? Covered in gore and staring blankly through the hardware floor? Klaus seemed to have lost all of his normal snark, instead only quietly answering “Yes, sir.” whenever dad directed a question at him, and shrinking in on himself under the weight of Luther’s glare.

Whatever happened, Vanya was sure that it was Klaus’ fault. She knew that he had already been pretty baked when they first left for the mission, with the intention of only getting higher. There was no other reason for the tear tracks rolling down his face and the barely concealed fury in Luther's voice. 

Oh well, she was sure that Ben would be okay. She remembered when Allison had been brought to mom in critical condition when they were younger, before Five had left. She hadn’t been allowed to see Allison until mom had finished with her, so she didn’t know what was wrong with her. She had asked Five, but he had lied to her and told her that Allison’s arm had been chopped off, so had everyone else she asked. She had clearly been made into the butt of a joke, since when she saw Allison again her arm was fine, securely attached to her body. And missions weren’t dangerous for them because they were _special_. It was the only time she remembered Five making fun of her, and the betrayal hurt. She wished she had talked to Five about it before he left. 

She wished for a lot of things.

The mission report was over, and the others were allowed to clean themselves up. Mom was too busy patching Ben up, so Vanya was the one who prepared the food for them. 

Breakfast was its usual affair, but with a tension hanging over them that no one seemed willing to break. Klaus was still, staring into his bowl of oatmeal, as was Diego. Luther was resolutely avoiding eye contact, gripping his spoon tightly enough that it bent under his grip. Allison was crying as quietly as possible, trying to avoid interrupting Herr Carlson.

Her siblings finished breakfast, and got ready to train. Vanya choked down her oatmeal and wondered where the feeling of dread came from.

* * *

Klaus had always thought that he’d know if one of his siblings died, even if they weren’t that close since Five had left, he still loved them, so he’d just instinctively _know_ if one of them died, without them ever having to manifest themselves. This was why he wasn’t so worried when he went to bed, and why his siblings kept glancing over at him as they listened to Herr Carlson, Mom still too busy saving Ben's life to make dinner. 

Klaus, along with his siblings, was sent to his room, and he didn’t feel any different. His heart was still beating at its usual slow pace, and his body was as cold as it always was. Nothing different.

He should probably take some pills to take the edge off or else he would wake up too terrified to climb out of bed to make the ghosts go away, but the idea of getting high again when it almost killed Ben…

He couldn’t. He couldn’t do it. Maybe later, but not so soon, not when Klaus could still feel the phantom trickle of blood running down his neck. He was far too exhausted to change into his pajamas, so he collapsed into bed and pulled his covers over his eyes to hide from the world. 

It took forever to fall asleep, but even with the combined effects of the horrible mission and the ghosts, the bone deep tiredness was enough to finally pull him under.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is, right on time 👀👀 hope you enjoy!

He was pulled from his warm, soft bed onto the cold, hard floor by a hand that had his arm in an iron grip. Klaus thought that Luther had finally come to punish him, even if he kept giving him guilty glances at dinner, but all it took was to lift his eyes from the floor to make his blood freeze. 

Dad.

He wasn’t even looking at him, too busy dragging klaus along to god knows where. He blinked the heaviness out of his eyes as best he could, but it was hard to keep track of where he was going with Dad walking so fast. “Where,” he yawned, “Where are you taking me?”

“Not another word,” Dad snapped, roughly pulling him further. After a couple of disorienting turns, they were suddenly outside, and his father practically threw him inside the car. As the car door shut loudly behind him, it finally occurred to him what was happening. The mausoleum. 

No no no no, he couldn’t do this, not _now,_ not when he didn’t have anything to protect himself with. Pogo was in the driver’s seat, he dully noted as he tried to get his pounding heart to calm down, but it didn’t occur to him to ask for help. Pogo put Dad first before any of them. The car jolted into motion and a sudden wave of nausea forced him to put his head in between his knees and squeeze his eyes shut. Tears rolled down his cheeks regardless.

It barely felt like any time had passed at all when the car jolted to a stop and his father opened his car door, ready to reach in and throw him in _with Them–_

No no no, he couldn't, he just couldn’t do this. In a panic, he threw himself against the other side of the car, as far from his father as he could get, and buried his face in his arms. Old, thin fingers with a hidden strength closed around his ankle. “Number Four, stop being so _hysterical_.” Dad growled, and the bubble of panic keeping him quiet suddenly burst.

“No, no, I _can’t! No._ Not now, why now?” He sobbed, scabbling helplessly against his father’s alien-like strength. Quickly, like Klaus was nothing compared to his father, he was pulled out, and there was a sickening _clunk_ as all the doors locked, his only hope of escape slipping through his fingers. Dad pulled him up to face him by his arm, and for the first time that night, Klaus got a good look at his father’s face, helpfully illuminated by the moon shining innocently above them. His face was flushed red, his hand was gripping his arm so tightly that it felt like it was going to fall off. He’d never seen Dad so angry.

“I do not have any time for your theatrics,” his father bit out, and Klaus could hear the barely concealed rage in his voice. “You need to get over this _pathetic_ fear if you want to ever see Number Six again.”

Klaus blinked at him, but was given no time to parse out his words before his father started to yank him towards the mausoleum doors.

He screamed and cried and fought as much as he could, but he was no match for his father, who merely sighed and tugged him closer, yanking open the stone doors.

Without another word, he threw Number Four into death’s arms and slammed the doors shut and they were _there._ Screaming and crying and clawing at him as best they could but they couldn’t touch him, thank _god,_ they couldn't touch him.

He cried with them, clawing at the mausoleum doors, at himself. Was the liquid running down his face tears or his own blood? Maybe it was Ben's blood. Yes, that made sense, because he was being punished for what he did to Ben. He seriously hurt him, maybe even permanently disfigured him, and he needed to atone before he could see Ben again. Yes, that was what his father meant. Any other alternative was wrong.

It was _wrong._

He sobbed, in his panic, his desperation to get away from _Them–_ He had somehow ended up at the back of the mausoleum, hidden behind two caskets. The smell was worse there but the ghosts seemed reluctant to trespass another's final resting place, though his hiding there only seemed to make them more furious; They screamed and cried so loud, crowding at his only exit, reaching out for him– but at least he had some semblance of space now, at least they weren’t practically phasing through him with how close they were. 

Now with space to think, he patted his pockets desperately, hands trembling. He took off his jacket, despite how it meant that he could only feel the cold air where their hands should be– he turned it upside down and shook, but it was no use, he was completely stripped of any escape. 

He had never regretted trying to get sober more in his life. He just wanted them to _stop._

* * *

Days.

He must have been there for days.

Dad usually left him there for about six hours, longer than that if he was bad. He always lost his grip on time whenever he was stuffed in there, and he would’ve had no idea of the days going by if it weren’t for the parchness of his mouth and the pit in his stomach.

He was grateful for it, though, because it meant that what the ghosts were telling him was wrong, that he wasn’t _Them,_ because it got so, _so_ hard to tell sometimes, when his throat tore from screaming and he still couldn’t stop, when he wasn’t even sure that his heart was beating anymore despite his quick, gulping breaths. 

Dad had told him that he had to get over his fear of the ghosts if he ever wanted to see Ben again, but what did that mean? Dad hadn’t come by even once in all the time Klaus had been here. How would he know if he was still scared? 

Maybe Ben was dead. Maybe now that he wasn’t useful anymore, dad just left him there to die. Sounded like something he’d do. He rubbed his cheek against the damp dirt, damp because of his tears or blood or both he didn’t know. He let his hands fall from his ears to the ground. The ghosts were just white noise by now, what they were saying didn’t mean anything to him, and he was sure it didn’t mean anything to them either. He was just as trapped as they were, and all the use he had here was a breathing punching bag. He was sure that they would ignore him once he died and became a ghost. Though maybe he wouldn’t die. Maybe this was like prometheus, that greek god dude who was tortured for all eternity. That sounded like something he deserved–

He froze. there was a ghost invading his sanctuary. He could feel the cool pressure moving through him. They weren’t supposed to do that, it was breaking the unspoken rules that the ghosts had since before he was born. Why were they ignoring it now? On the worst day–days? Of his life. He screwed his eyes shut and sobbed. It wasn’t fair, _it just wasn't fair._

The rebellious ghost was still there, but instead of frantically waving its hand through Klaus to get his attention like the other ghosts did, the cold pressure stayed there, like the ghost was just standing _inside_ of him, not realising its own incoperal status, and that was somehow worse.

He shuddered and lifted his head to see if the ghost could be convinced to leave, only to find– No.

_No._

_No, no, no, no, no, no._ It wasn’t him _it wasn’t._ Oh _god._

There, standing in his legs like he had any business of being there, was Ben. But he must be wrong, he must be hallucinating. He had spent far too much time in the mausoleum, because that wasn’t Ben, that was a kid who died here probably decades ago who just had the exact same face, uniform, and _gaping hole in his stomach where the Horror–_ where he must have been injured in a freak accident. He didn’t even have a domino mask on. Klaus was forty percent sure that Ben still had his domino mask on when he died– when he was horribly injured, but would survive with medical intervention, right?

_Right?_

His traitorous mind brought up their trip back home after the mission. Diego was desperately trying to stop the bleeding, his tears dripping into the blood soaked bandages, along with Allison. Despite Luther's protests, Klaus ended up holding Ben's head in his lap, staring off into space and hopelessly trying to ignore the _change_ he could feel in Ben. His already laboured breaths becoming nonexistent as the life slowly leached out of his body into a new place. A soul departing.

No no no no no, he couldn't be dead. He couldn't be the reason Ben was dead, he couldn't have killed his brother

He couldn't– he, he–

Oh _god._

A scream tore out of his mouth, as energy he only felt slithers of before engulfed him. 

Everything went dark.

* * *

_Back at the academy, a man sat in the camera room, watching as Number Four destroyed the mausoleum with a burst of energy–telekinesis perhaps? He wiped the dust off of Number Four’s long-forgotten book and made a note. He turned his attention back to the camera feed, and noticed that in his efforts to escape, Number Four seemed to have accidently killed himself in the process, if the stillness of his chest was anything to go by._

_What a waste, just as he showed potential. It was almost as if the boy had done it on purpose, just to spite him. Oh well. He would have to call someone to pick the boy up, maybe he would wait for a few months to tell the children, pretend that Number Four had just gone on another drug binge, so they wouldn’t become too nonfunctional as they would have been if they had to mourn two brothers instead of one._

_There was a tiny gasp from the video feed and Reginald glanced back. Number Four was breathing again, or had he been breathing all this time? Even when he rewinded the video, it was impossible to tell if the boy was dead, or had just been breathing shallowly._

_Still, he supposed it would certainly make for an interesting experiment. Perhaps he should wait, he thought as he watched Number Four shakily attempt to stand, succeeding after the third attempt and scurrying off. Wait to confirm his hypothesis, and bring him back then._

_Satisfied, he picked up his notebook again, scribbling down ideas for experiments once he had Number Four back home._

* * *

A monochrome forest, a silent girl, and suddenly he jerked awake among the rubble in the remains of the mausoleum. He couldn’t even bring himself to be happy about his worst nightmare ceasing to be as he caught sight of Ben’s ghost, continuing to stand next to him as if nothing had happened. His power outburst had seemed to banish all of the ghosts torturing him from the area. All except Ben. 

He laid there for a while. He had a feeling his uncontrollably shaking legs weren’t up for supporting his weight, and the thought of just moving made bile rise in his throat.

He must have stayed there for hours, slowly letting his breathing return, his heart to start beating, (or slow down? He couldn't remember.) Increment by increment, steadiness and stability returned, until he felt capable of standing and stumbling away before Dad caught wind of what had happened, and bring him back just to find another mausoleum. Ben remained an unmoving figure at his side, as Klaus tried and failed multiple times to get up. The real Ben would have helped him.

To Klaus’ distress, ghost-Ben seemed capable of walking, and followed behind his slow, limping pace silently. He was unresponsive to Klaus’ efforts to make him leave, and he had tried everything from yelling to picking up the heaviest slab of concrete he could handle and tossing it at him. Ben stayed still, watching the ground with wide eyes, only blinking to get the steadily dripping blood out of them. There wasn’t a groundskeeper in the cemetery, his father wanted to put Klaus somewhere where no one could hear him scream, which for once, worked out in his favour. The only thing he was interested in now was getting high so that not-Ben would go away. The less living people he encountered the better.

His friends were all in the city, and the cemetery was in a low populated area. If he wanted drugs that he could get for a favour no questions asked, he needed to go to the city. He couldn’t walk all that way, so, while struggling not to collapse from exhaustion, he stuck out his thumb.

A few cars passed, one threw a beer can at him and called him a ‘drag show.’ The sudden realisation that he went through all this shit in Vanya’s dress was hysterical. It really was! Poor vanya, he couldn’t ever give it back now. The idea was so hilarious that he ended up curled on the grass, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. Sure, it was a little high pitched and strained, but laughter was the best medicine right? Despite the fact that his thumb wasn’t being held up in favour of curling his hand over his head as he wheezed against the grass, a car slowed down in front of him, and the door opened.

“Uh, shit– kid, are you okay?” The stranger asked, carefully stepping out to kneel next to him, and that prompted on another burst of laughter. If Ben was here, he would have told him to stop being stupid and ask for help. Ben’s ghost continued to stare at the floor. “Seriously, kid. I'm gonna call the ambulance if you keep this up.”

That snapped him out of it– the last thing he needed was more ghosts. He sat up, wiping tears from his cheeks, and looked up at the citizen with a saviour complex. A young guy with dark skin and a warm looking jacket, holding up a phone menacingly. Huh. The man stared at him warily. “Are you alright? You look pretty bad.”

He scoffed and tossed his bloody hair out of his face. He fell back on his carefree routine like a fish out of water, desperate for something familiar to hold onto while everything he’s known had been thrown into turmoil. “I’ve never been better, cupcakes. Hey, could you give me a ride to town?” The man stared at him, and Klaus’ stomach lurched. “I’ll make it worth your while," he added.

“What? No. _No._ Why are you saying that? You're just a kid.”

“Sixteen, actually. Look, will you give me a ride to town or not?” The man sighed irritably, pocketing his phone.

“Fine, but only if you tell me what the hell kind of a mess you’re in.”

Klaus did not hold up his end of the deal, and there was only so much interrogating a stranger was willing to do before they gave up. Still, Klaus was grateful, even when the man dropped him off far away from where his druggie friends were, and he humored the man calling out for him to stay out of trouble with a dismissive hand wave.

Obtaining drugs was a blur, he was pretty sure he was getting close to passing out. All he knew was that he was sitting in an alleyway clutching a needle full of… something. Something that would get him seriously high, he hoped.

...Did he _really_ want to do this? It would ruin his life, he’d heard stories from friends about the people they knew who had been lost to drugs like this. He remembered being an innocent little twelve year old, before Ben, before _Five,_ who had sworn that no matter how bad the ghosts got, he would never ever use the hard stuff. He couldn’t hurt his family like that. 

But that was before Ben died, before Klaus _killed_ him. His siblings must hate him, so what was the point of suffering for a family who couldn’t even be bothered to _understand_ him?

Still wavering between if he should do it or not, he looked over at Ben, and that was enough to solidify his decision.

He stuck the needle in and pushed the plunger and– _oh…_

All he knew about hard drugs was that they were bad, nothing of the effects. He kinda expected it to feel like cocaine, but this…

This was just nice.

The streets were suddenly silent, the only sounds were cars and footsteps and some guys arguing a way aways.

Ben wasn’t there anymore and he was utterly, joylessly, alone.


	3. Chapter 3

He spent the next few months in a drug-induced haze. No way was he coming back home now that Dad had a brand new reason to do all sorts of horrible things to him. He didn’t know what had happened that destroyed the mausoleum, but he was pretty sure that it came from him. Unless he had passed out and some bulldozers decided to clear out the area without removing the unconscious kid in the rubble. He was fine away from home, he had already gotten the hang of life on the streets via his previous escapades, the only difference was that it was 24/7 now, and there was no home to run back to if something went really wrong–

Whatever. Any option was better than home, and however hard and cold and boring being homeless was, it was miles better than being tortured by ghosts for forever, right?

That reminded him, he needed another hit. 

It was harder, staying constantly high on the streets, but it wasn’t like he had a choice. He needed to stay high, he _had_ to. Especially with the ghost of his brother following him around. 

He usually tried his best not to think about Ben, and he succeeded, mostly. He stayed high to avoid other ghosts too, but mostly Ben. Ben had snapped out of his catotonic state a...while ago? A few days, or a few months. Did time even really exist? Ben had taken to yelling at him in the horrible moments when he was sober, scrambling for another high. Just like other ghosts, he _knew_ it _._ A ghost was a ghost, despite any previous relationship with them. The fact that Ben was more coherent than other ghosts didn’t mean anything, nor that his ramblings were more composed of begging him to stop killing himself instead of crying about being dead. Well, not anymore.

He was thinking the bad thoughts, and Ben’s voice was starting to pierce through the drug-induced fog. Time to get high. 

He found a needle that was still half full, definitely used, but hey, it’s not like his life wasn't worth wasting. 

Grey trees, a bratty girl. His heart started beating again. Dark figures watching his unconscious body scurried off. Klaus would be more worried if obtaining his next high wasn’t far more important

It was getting colder and colder. Winter was coming, and he would stay at the homeless shelter if they weren’t such stuck ups, constantly badgering him to get sober and kicking him out when he did little things like steal and ‘create a disturbance.’ Well, no matter. In this part of town it was easy enough to find someone to cozy up to for a bed and drugs. 

Occasionally, he would find himself in rehab. Klaus _would_ be spending enforced bonding time with Ben if not for the fact that he knew where they kept their xanax for the _really_ kooky patients, and years of being daddy's little soldier meant that he went undetected.

Xanax did grant him some degree of awareness, since he only took enough to keep the ghosts away to avoid acting suspicious. He now had the presence of mind to roll his eyes at the excuses the adult babies whined about in group therapy. Oh, your dad hit you? So did Klaus’ and he still wouldn't have done drugs if not for the ghosts! They weren’t like him, they weren't doing it for a good reason. 

They let him out, and Klaus _finally_ got to take enough drugs to banish the ghosts wavering in the corner of his eye. 

Rinse and repeat.

* * *

After an _epic_ night at the rave, where he got to chase all sorts of highs and was reassured that he wouldn’t have to worry about the ghosts until at least the next evening, he passed out on some bench in a park, and had just barely drifted off to sleep when a rude hand roughly shook him awake. 

Despite how often he had been shaken awake by police officers and disgruntled store owners the past few months, his heart still beat widely whenever it happened, his mind summoning memories of _dad’s iron grip on his arm, Pogo’s guilty stare in the rear view mirror, the ghosts, oh god,_ Ben–

He shook his head, pushing off the hand that was shaking him in panic, and blinking his eyes open to find–

Diego. Huh.

Plastering on a grin to hide his panic and shock, he tipped forwards, maybe a little too much, and fell into Diego's chest in what someone could call a hug. “Hey, Diego!” He grinned, not having to fake his joy once he got over the surprise. “What are you doing here? Did you leave?”

“Y–yeah,” Diego struggled, trying to wiggle out of his hug. With a mixture of Klaus’ weak arms, and all the anger-exercise Diego must have done after Klaus killed Ben, he was soon free. “I left about a month ago, actually.” Robbed of his hug, he leant back, taking his brother in, and raised his eyebrows at how different he looked. He didn’t know how long it had been since he left, but it had clearly been a while. Diego was a little taller, a little less naive. He wasn’t wearing the uniform anymore, to his delight. 

“You really left? Fuck yeah! Stick it to the man! Fuck dad and his academy, right?”

“Yeah,” Diego shifted on his feet, refusing to make eye contact. “Right.” There was something that Diego wasn’t saying, so he stayed quiet, unnerving Diego until he came out with it. “What are you doing here Klaus?”

“Uh, I'm sleeping? What did it look like I was doing?”

“You’re homeless?”

He shrugged. "Yeah." He sat up and started to stretch, damn if he was going to feel more sore than he already did on a daily basis. “I'm more of a free spirit nowadays, moving around from place to place, not tied down anywhere, it’s great.”

“Don’t bullshit me, being homeless is horrible.”

Now _that_ piqued his interest, “You’re homeless as well?” 

Diego’s body language suddenly closed off, like Klaus was going to laugh at him or something. “Not really, not anymore. I’m staying in a motel right now,”

“Ooh la la! Fancy!”

Diego scowled. “No, it’s not. It’s the crappiest motel i’ve ever been in.”

“Well, it must be better than sleeping rough, take it from my poor, poor back, Diego. Relish that shitty motel bed. Relish it.”

Diego went silent, and that was fine, because that meant that Klaus could still enjoy his lovely high. He nearly shit himself when Diego suddenly spoke up. “You could stay with me."

Klaus blinked in surprise. Once when they were kids, dad made him use Klaus as target practice, a fucked up way to punish and train at the same time, though Klaus would argue that was what all training was like. Regardless, ever since then, Diego had been so guilty. He denied it, but Klaus always thought that was why he was so protective of him. He was a good person like that. He had assumed that killing Ben would have replaced any residual guilt with anger. He knew first hand how long Diego could keep a grudge.

Still, who was he to turn down a free place to stay for the night?

They had to sneak him in, since the motel owner was a dick and wouldn't have allowed the two of them to stay in a single person room without charging him extra money, but it was fun. Not like, rave and drugs fun, just childlike shenanigans. Klaus hadn’t had innocent fun like that in a long while. 

After successfully evading the motel owner, they reached Diego's room, and Klaus stepped in and basked in being inside without (much) fear of getting kicked out for once. It was a modest room, but not the worst he’d ever seen. It was small, mold on the walls, with a distinct musty smell that Klaus couldn’t tell was the good kind or not. Someone definitely died in this room, and he was going to do his best to _never_ meet them. Overall, entirely what he expected of a crappy motel, but better than his current sleeping situation, which was wherever adults wouldn’t chase him off.

Diego had obviously been there for a while, judging by the assorted nick nacks around the room, untidied, because years of being mommy’s favourite hadn’t taught Diego anything. Hm. There was his domino mask on the bedside table. What was that doing there? He strolled over to pick it up, feeling a little weird at the all too familiar texture of leather. 

“Huh, so I guess old habits die hard.” He murmured, holding up the mask when Diego looked up from where he was making a shitty dinner of microwaved scrambled eggs, that he was sharing with him, aw.

He bristled, “I have to make ends meet. Once I get into the police academy, I'll be more useful.”

“Maybe I should start vigilanting if it pays so much.”

Diego scoffed, “Yeah right, you’re useless on the field, look what happened to Ben.”

He flinched and put down the mask. Diego hadn’t forgotten, then. There was a heavy sigh from behind him, and a sad plate of eggs was pushed into his hands.

“Eat up, you look like a skeleton.”

They ate in silence, and with nothing better to do, they went to bed. Klaus wasn’t looking forward to sleeping in the same tiny bed as Diego, who frequently mistook his bed companions for intruders, but luckily, Diego wasn’t getting ready for bed, he was putting on his mask and strapping knives to his chest.

“Going out already? I guess justice never sleeps.”

Klaus couldn't see his eyes with the mask over them, but he _knew_ they were rolling. “I was looking for trouble when I found you, I just decided a little extra fuel won’t do any harm.”

“So you’re gonna leave me here all by myself?”

That was _definitely_ an eyeroll. “Somehow, I think you’ll survive. Stay out of trouble, don’t touch my things, and _don’t_ answer the door if someone knocks, got that?”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna ask.” He groaned, getting comfortable in the bed. “Have fun.”

There was a squeak as Diego opened the badly oiled door, a pause, and then a mumbled, “Don’t steal all the covers," just as the doors shut.

“Too late,” he mumbled to any ghost that might be listening, letting himself sink to sleep.

* * *

_Screaming, howling, bloody broken fingers from scratching the mausoleum walls, they were going to kill him, they were going to –_

He shot up with a gasp, his breaths catching in his throat, desperately blinking the faces of screaming corpses out of his eyes. 

No, wait, those corpses were actually there. 

“Klaus!”

No, no, no, no, he was supposed to be fine, he was supposed to be safe until morning, they gave him _fucking phoney drugs._

“Klaus, Klaus, are you sober? You can hear me!"

He collapsed out of bed, shaking fingers scrambling, desperately opening drawers, cupboards, anything that could make them go away. There was no way that Diego could just tough out the injuries he got from vigilanting, but it was looking to be that way.

“Klaus, can you see me? Look at me!”

He couldn’t handle this, he couldn’t handle _them,_ he needed– he needed money, he needed money to buy the things that made them go away, that made the _thing that was not his brother go away,_ but he blew it all on the drugs he bought before, foolishly thinking that he would have enough time to find his next high before the ghosts came back.

“You can see me, I know you can! Please, Four, just look at me!”

God, he was so stupid, he was worthless and this was probably hell, becuase what sort of fucked up reality would make someone have to suffer the cries of the brother he killed, knowing that only complying with his brother’s demands would only sink him deeper into his misery.

“Four it’s me, it’s Six, please, just look at me!”

A sob wrenched out of him, and for the first time in _months_ , he forced himself to look at his dead brother. This was his punishment. For what he did to Ben.

Dragging his eyes to look at his deceased brother, the first thing he noticed was not the gore as he had expected, but how _young_ Ben looked. Klaus still had much of his growth spurt to go, but even kneeling down, he could tell that Ben was already shorter than him.

_God,_ they really were just _kids,_ were still kids.

ghost-Ben didn’t seem to know what to do with Klaus’ attention once he had it, and Klaus quickly looked away in search of something to pawn before his eyes went down to fake-Ben’s stomach. He could still remember how horrible it looked, with his intestines spilling out, the portal that had allowed the Horror through nowhere in sight. His own stomach lurched and he distracted himself by searching Diego's clothes.

“No– _no_ , Klaus, I’m sorry, I'm sorry for scaring you, don’t get high again!”

But it wasn’t just Ben, it was the army of the other ghosts baying for his attention, furious that Klaus would pay attention to Ben but not them. Underneath a pile of clothes, like it was being hidden, was Diego's pretty throwing knife, a personal present mom had given them along with their names for their eleventh birthday. Perfect.

He stole an extra jacket and practically ran to the pawn shop, then to the closest dealers, ignoring Ben’s desperate pleadings all the way.

All the dealer had was a bag of assorted pills but that was good enough for Klaus. He grabbed a handful and shoved it in his mouth, forcing himself to swallow it down.

It took a while, but slowly, Ben's cries died out, and he was left alone. Watching the sun slowly peak over the buildings, it occurred to him that if Diego didn’t hate him before, he definitely did now, but maybe that was a good thing. 

It was better if Klaus was left alone, before he inevitably hurt the people he loved.

* * *

It took a week or so, but Diego finally cornered Klaus in an alleyway, where he was sitting on a collapsed cardboard box and drinking gross beer, a picture perfect hobo except that he wasn’t old and hairy. Oh well, one can dream. Diego scowled down at him and Klaus for lack of anything better to do, blearily blinked back. “I don’t understand how you can do this to yourself.”

Right, so diego was going to do the whole guilt trippy, ‘I think you’re better than this’, speech, and then he would fuck off and Klaus would get to drown all his problems in beer. Speaking of which, he took another big gulp of beer and winced at the taste. Drugs hadn’t done much to get rid of his youthful taste buds. After a pause where Diego realised he wasn’t going to say anything, he continued.

“That was mom’s gift. That she gave to me, specially. How would you feel if I pawned your tarot deck, huh?”

“Too late,” he mumbled, “I already did,” and he sort of regretted it. If nothing else, it was nice to shuffle the cards and know that somebody cared about him enough to know what he liked, even if it was a robot who was programmed to.

Diego scoffed in disbelief, looking around as if he could find Klaus’ ability to care in this damp and dirty alley. “You’re unbelievable, you know that? Do you even care about me? I guess all I'm g-g-good for is money to you, huh?”

Diego must be genuinely upset if he was stuttering, and after a pause, he looked up at his brother's face. He was glaring at him, waiting for an explanation. Klaus didn’t know if there was one. He didn’t do this because he liked it, he did it because he just wanted some peace and quiet, okay? And at least drugs made him not care, made him feel nice enough to not care that he’s ruining his entire life.

But he couldn’t fathom how to articulate all that to his brother, so he stayed silent.

Diego scoffed in disgust and turned to leave, but the guilt that the drugs would usually keep at bay was sinking into him, and compelled him to quietly call after his brother. “I’ll get it back for you.”

Diego stopped.

“I promise,” he added after a pause, but all Diego did was shake his head and walk away. He didn’t believe Klaus, and that was fine, because Klaus didn’t believe in himself either. 

But he was still going to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so Klaus is gonna try and do this whole making amends thing 👀👀 lets hope it works out


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i nearly forgot to post this DFGHJKKJHGFDSA

Klaus had lost a lot of people in his life. Five, Ben– pretty much all of his siblings. If you asked Klaus about his family, he would say that he didn’t care about them, and he tried his best not to, but the truth was, they were all assholes, and Klaus wasn’t the only cruel one of his siblings, but he still loved them, warts and all. If there was one person in his family who didn’t completely hate him and wasn’t a walking corpse, he would do his best to grip them tight and never let go. Which was exactly what he was doing now. If he wanted any hope of having one okay thing in his life that wasn’t drugs, he had to get Diego's knife back and pray that he would forgive him. 

Making money on the streets wasn’t easy, obviously, especially for a kid junkie like him. It was usually a delicate balance getting his mind in the right place to steal. He needed to be sober enough to be quick and keep an eye out, but high enough that the ghosts wouldn’t distract him. The risk of one of his siblings seeing him if he tried to beg was too high, and he didn’t want to shoplift anything to pawn either. Call him crazy but doing the exact same thing that got him in this mess was so hypocritical that even he saw it. Also Diego would be extra mad if he found out. 

So that left only one option. 

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to do this _sober,_ no matter how disappointed Diego would be if he knew.

He had some left over money, which he used to purchase the drugs necessary to do what he had to. Once he was suitably high, (maybe a tad too high, it would be fine,) he put on clothes that suitably advertised what he was offering, contoured his face with some stolen makeup to appear older, and set off.

It took a while, most men weren't willing to have a lawsuit on their hands when they looked close enough to see that Klaus was still a minor under all that makeup, which was why he didn’t do it often, but it would probably be easier when he was older. He wasn’t having much luck tonight.

His buddies who he usually huddled together with for warmth like penguins had been picked up, and Klaus could just go to a rave and get a night’s bed there, but he needed the money to buy the knife back for Diego, and the longer he put it off, the more chance he gave himself to chicken out. 

Honestly, at this point, he wouldn’t even mind if he got a crazy fetish douchebag, at least with them it was more torture than sex, and Klaus was used to torture. 

A car pulled up, and Klaus pulled himself out of his thoughts enough to attempt to look seductive while his body was shaking violently in the harsh winter wind. The window rolled down and he took the liberty of leaning against where the window used to be, too busy soaking in the warmth coming from inside to focus on the man looking steadily at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to say something?” Klaus jerked, opening his eyes that he didn’t even realise slipped close. Right, he was supposed to say something flirty, anything to get the guy interested, and here he was leaning against some random stranger’s car with his eyes closed like a creep. Maybe he _was_ too high for this.

The pause in which it took Klaus to pull his brain back together was too long, as the man heaved a long sigh. "How old are you?”

He knew what to say on this one, he pulled his face into a flirty smile and purred, “As old as you want me, baby.” The man wasn’t making eye contact with him, too busy analyzing the merchandise, so he let his eyes lazily glance around the inside of the car. Fairly normal looking, all things considered, but he did spot a pair of handcuffs subtly peeking out of a compartment. Hm, a freak and trying to hide it, he could roll with that. This sort of stuff was always an excuse to try and charge more.

Once satisfied with what he saw, the man’s face contorted into an unsettling replica of Klaus’ own smile. “That’s what I like to hear. Get in.” He unlocked the car door and Klaus gratefully slid in away from the cold and into the glorious world of heating. His goosebumps barely had the chance to settle before the man grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss.

He automatically kissed back, as well as he was able to while ignoring the churning in his gut and his breathing becoming faster. Right in the middle of their makeout, he felt the cool metal of handcuffs sliding over his wrists before locking tight. He’d barely had time to think _really, here?_ When the man kissed up to his ear and breathed, "You’re under arrest for solicitation.”

Stupidly, Klaus’ first thought was wishing that the man had told him they were going to roleplay instead of just springing it on him like that, until he pulled back and started the car, the creepy, scary man from before completely hidden behind a mask of professionalism. 

If Ben was alive, he would probably cuss.

* * *

“Look, I'm sure you’re a good kid, you have a bright future ahead of you, but this is your third serious offence." Klaus stayed silent, still stinging from the humiliating failure of not realising that he was talking to a cop. A rookie mistake, some of the older workers said, and sometimes a fatal one. The policeman who was deciding on his punishment was not the man who took him in, thankfully, otherwise Klaus had a feeling that he would ‘let him off easy’, and then track him down to make him pay for it later. This man seemed genuinely troubled by Klaus’ predicament, probably became a cop to actually help people, and wasn’t quite disillusioned yet by the rampant corruption in the police force. Just like Diego. 

The thought of his brother made his gut tighten. He couldn’t remember if he wrote down Diego as his emergency contact yet. Could minors be emergency contacts? Or even have them? Probably not. He didn’t know much about laws. Another rookie mistake. 

Eventually, the policeman gave up on him, as everyone eventually did, and had put him in the holding cell for the night, saying something about courts, lawyers, calling his parents, all the stuff that he was just too tired to pay attention to. Too tired to do anything but collapse on the bench and fall asleep.

* * *

A gruff police man roused him awake, and dragged him into a room with nothing but a table, some chairs and a large mirror on one wall. An interrogation room. The policeman didn’t say a word, just dragging Klaus over to the chair and handcuffing him to the table, and he was left to think about what he had done. He didn’t mind, because he was still enjoying the last few remnants of his high, which kept him from worrying about _why_ he was even being interrogated in the first place, and some time to himself without any ghosts sounded absolutely _wonderful._

He shifted until he found a comfortable position with his handcuffed wrists and leaned back, determined not to think about anything.

But of course, life hated him, and despite his efforts, his thoughts drifted over to Ben. Ever since he saw Ben in Diego's motel a few weeks ago, he’d been trying his best not to think about how he seemed kind of… normal. For the most part. He was still the horrific picture of his violent death, but he seemed somewhat sane? Most ghosts went crazy after a while of being dead. Probably because of all the screaming and the years of no one to talk to. Ghosts were pretty emotional things. After a time, logical thought seemed to be abandoned along with their bodies. 

He was pretty sure that was why they were...like that when they realised that he could see them. Finally, someone who could care about them and their deaths, someone who could help! Never mind that someone was a kid begging for them to leave him alone, was spending all of his time and energy into keeping them away just so he could have _some_ peace.

They never would, no matter how much Klaus wanted them to, because ghosts were inherently selfish creatures, that was their whole purpose, why they were stuck in the veil instead of frolocking in whatever afterlife existed, they were too hung up on their own deaths to move on.

That was how Klaus had come to understand ghosts over the years but...

_“No-no, Klaus, I’m sorry, I'm sorry for scaring you, don’t get high again!”_

That didn’t explain Ben.

The thought that he could have been spending the past year running away from his brother who _needed_ him instead of a bloody, furious replica of his brother made fear, real _fear,_ churn with the knowledge that he may have fucked up. Very, very badly.

The door suddenly squeaked open, and he didn’t look up right away, intending to put off his interrogator by sheer aloofness, but the pristine suit that came into his peripheral vision made his insides freeze.

Hoping against hope, he looked up, praying that it was a lawyer or something, and he couldn’t help but let out a shaky breath when he realised just who had decided to visit him. 

Dad.

He stared, paralysed, as his father picked him raw with nothing but an impatient eye. “Number Four.” He greeted, but it didn’t feel much like a greeting. It felt like a cold harsh reminder of how subhuman he really was. No matter how long he spent away from the academy, it was still inside him, rotting away all the good parts of him until there was nothing but tar and hatred. 

“Dad,” he forced out, his fingers starting to tremble as his father coolly closed the door and made his way to stand behind the chair in front of Klaus. 

He had almost forgotten how his father’s stare made him feel like a tiny field mouse stuck in the claws of a lion.

There was a stretch of silence where neither of them said anything, before he couldn’t take it anymore. “What are you doing here?”

“Why does it matter?” His father asked, happy to speak now that Four had spoken first. 

He had forgotten how horribly cryptic his father could be. He always dodged their questions about their own well being with another question, or the classic ‘for the fate of the world’ bullshit he always spouted. Klaus had tried to play his little mind games before, and it never worked out, so he sat up straight, trying to appear older and braver and more aloof than he actually was. Sometimes dad left him alone if he didn’t engage. “Okay. So, what’s the price for bailing me out? Can’t imagine that it’s from the goodness of your heart.”

He moved from where he was standing to tower over Klaus, and he was sinking into the floor. “I’m not ‘bailing’ you out.”

“What?” Surprise made him forget all the rules about talking to dad, and _shit._ Dad had him. “Why else would you be here? It can’t be good for the academy’s reputation to have one of your precious children in jail,” he tried, but failed. Dad might have let him go if he proved that he wasn’t interesting enough to bother batting around, but with only one sentence he had Klaus ensnared in a trap he’d thought he had escaped.

“You won’t go to jail, you’ll be coming back home.”

All the breath left his lungs, just as effectively as if dad punched him in the gut. “Oh,” he breathed out. Crap. That wasn’t fair, _that wasn’t fair._ He had spent so much time and energy making sure that he wouldn’t be caught. He avoided people like the plague for the first few months, just in case Dad had paid them to take him back home. Running away was bad enough but running when he had just made a huge breakthrough with his powers? Unforgivable. He’d spent every day and every night convinced that Dad was just behind him and he would take Klaus back and he would never be anything but Number Four again--

Dad was waiting for him to speak. He had lost, but he couldn’t let it show. He wasn’t going to give the bastard the satisfaction. He smiled, radiating confidence he didn’t have. “And why is that?” He crooned, as sweet as sugar.

“You will find out eventually. I have created a new personal training routine in the light of the breakthrough of your powers. Have you had any recent developments during your little escapade?”

Klaus stayed silent, trembling with rage or fear or confusion or _something._ Dad was _watching?_ After a… while, he had figured that if dad wanted him back, he would have dragged him home by now. If he wanted to bring him back this whole time, then why did he wait a year to retrieve him? In hopes that sleeping rough and rampage drug addiction would be character building or something? Maybe it was just to let him have a taste of freedom before being stuffed back into his cage. Sounded like something he’d do.

Dad had gotten frustrated with his silence, and he raised his cane menacingly. “No, sir.” He bit out, and dad relented, satisfied that his newest lab rat was well and truly stuck. He nodded to the mirror, and a few seconds later, a faceless policeman walked in and uncuffed him from the table, but re-cuffing his hands back together. Dad must have paid off the whole precinct to turn the other cheek. Or maybe the police just didn't care. 

Wiry, strong fingers enclosed around his arm to pull him outside the precinct and bile rose in his throat when the familiar long, black car came into view. Sitting innocently in front of the precinct like it had every right to be there. 

The door was opened, and he was shoved inside. It was the exact same car he had travelled to the mausoleum in, he realised, noticing the stitched up scar on the car seat that Klaus had accidentally inflicted in his vain efforts to stay inside. Dad had like a million dollars, he could replace a car like this ten times over. This was here to… mock him? Remind him what landed him in this situation? He didn’t know. He didn’t _want_ to know.

He felt exactly how he did on that fateful trip. He wanted so badly to let himself collapse into the same panicking mess as he was before, but he couldn’t afford to, not with dad here, not when he was in so much danger.

Instead of sitting in the front seat, dad sat next to him, robbing Klaus of the ability to even soothe himself a little. He sat as still as possible, but he couldn’t stop his body from twitching nervously, a ball of barely contained energy. His father hated it when he fidgeted, would wack Klaus’ hands or feet or whatever part of his body that wasn’t doing what dad wanted, but he didn’t do anything, didn’t even glance at him, which increased Klaus’ anxiety tenfold. What the hell was he planning to do to him? Would it be painful? Would he survive?

All he could do was sit there as his brain came up with more and more horrific scenarios for what dad had in store for him. They pulled up to the academy doors far too soon. 

Pogo opened the door for them, standing in such a way that Klaus wouldn’t be able to make a run for it without the chimp catching him. Despite this, Klaus thought he could see something that looked like regret in the old worn lines of his mentor’s face.

“Master Four, if you would come with me,” Pogo said, holding out his arm.

Dad poked him in the back with his cane, prompting him to take the hand offered to him, and Klaus awkwardly did, with his wrists still cuffed together, feeling too scared and trapped to even attempt to escape. Pogo took his arm gently, and Klaus was surprised by how small Pogo suddenly was. Or how big he himself had gotten over the time he was gone. A lot changed, he guessed.

He was all set to start snarking, to pretend like he wasn’t afraid, like he didn’t even care that he was here, but as soon as they walked through the doors, Klaus' words were stolen by how horrifically familiar it smelt. Polish, and dark, and the faint smell of baking coming from the kitchen. He didn’t dare talk, feeling too much like that little kid who didn’t know what the scary things following him were, didn’t know why his dad was hurting them. The faint smell of blood suddenly filled the air, but that was probably just his imagination. The last time he was here was when Ben had died, after all.

His hands started shaking, and somehow Klaus didn’t think it had anything to do with withdrawal as Pogo took the wrong turn to his bedroom and started taking him to an elevator instead.

The urge to escape reignited with the fear of the unknown, he tugged at his arm, and Pogo’s gentle hand tightened into an iron grip, keeping him there until the doors closed behind them and they started their descent. Whatever his crazy father had planned for Klaus was happening right now, no matter what he did to stop it.

The fear of whatever tortures waited for him finally made his throat start working. “Pogo—Pogo, where are you taking me?”

He didn’t reply, his mouth set in a grim line. The elevator reached the bottom, the doors sliding open to reveal—

A vault.

A vault— why the _fuck_ would his father have a vault? What did Klaus have to do with it? Did he have Ben's body in there? Was the vault to stop the smell of rot from seeping into the crevices of the mansion and now he was going to lock him up with Ben’s mutilated corpse for hours and hours and hours—

“Pogo— listen you don’t have to do this, if you let me escape I won’t tell anyone! I can take all the blame!” 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Master Klaus. Reginald has given strict orders to put you here while you regain sobriety.”

Sobriety? That was practically the same thing, only instead of Ben’s mutilated corpse, it would be his ghost, wailing, blaming Klaus for his death, and unrecognisable from his nerdy brother who liked stupid books and bands and used to read to him if the ghosts ever got too loud.

In desperation, he dug his heels in, but whatever muscles Pogo had developed in his years climbing trees were strong, far stronger than Klaus could ever fight against.

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” He sobbed, watching helplessly as the tiny door in the middle of the wall opened and all he could see was how small and dark and _inescapable_ it was.

“No, NO NO NO! Pogo, _please_!”

Pogo closed his eyes. “I’m _sorry_ , Master Klaus, but I don’t have a choice.”

And with that he shoved him inside and closed the door.

He leapt up, scrambling to the door, clawing at the tiny window and screaming for Pogo to _let him out, please, he’s sorry, he’s scared, please, please, please let him out—_

Pogo didn’t look back. Could he even hear him?

Did he even care?


	5. Chapter 5

He didn’t know how long it had been, only that everything was getting shittier and shittier by the minute. He hated it here. Sure, it wasn’t as bad as the mausoleum, it didn’t have rotting corpses and the screaming dead baying for his attention, but it was small, it kept him trapped, and every time he took a breath the walls shrunk in, suffocating him. 

The only thing that made it a little better was the handy little bed on the wall that Klaus could curl up in and squeeze his eyes shut against the migraine that was crushing his head. He didn’t know how long he had been here, but it was long enough that withdrawals had well and truly kicked in, making him shake and ache all over, and the nausea was so overpowering that he was keeping the bucket that was already in here near the bed, even though it already stunk of vomit. 

God, everything was horrible and this would never end. After all those months running from dad he was back to where he started, suffering from withdrawals in a horrible room he would probably never leave again. Or, well, a vault technically. Why was there even a vault down here? No, scratch that, why was there a vault with a bed chained to the wall? While it was pretty flattering to think that dad made this vault specially for him, he really didn’t think that was the case. 

Besides, if it was for him then why were the walls covered in foam spikes? They trapped sound if he was remembering correctly, so… maybe this place was a punishment for Allison? To take away her power whenever she got too carried away with her rumors? 

He hoped not. No one deserved to be locked up like this, especially not his siblings.

There were some other thoughts that crossed his mind, but they were slippery, difficult to hold on to. It was getting harder and harder to allow himself to think about anything but the ants crawling underneath his skin, setting it on fire. Picking at his arms only made it worse, and he groaned in frustration. What with how rich dad was, the sheets were probably soft, but he wouldn’t have guessed that, based on the way the hot coals on his skin ignited into flames when his bare skin touched the blankets.

He hated this part. Everything felt like shit and the migraine that was slowly building was only going to be worsened by the ghosts that were slowly multiplying, slowly preparing to make his life more hell than it already was.

The first scream cut its way through his ever present haze and he felt too horrible to even bother stifling a sob.

Why the hell did everyone want him to get sober? Sober for him meant masses of corpses following him around. No silence, no peace, not one fucking second of _privacy._ At least when he was high he was safe from them. Why didn’t his family want him safe? Why didn't they _care?_

His first thought was that they were punishing him for Ben. Made sense. Klaus had slacked on the job, failed to protect Ben, and now they were making his life a misery for it. Maybe they all knew he was here, laughing at how pathetic and useless he was over dinner while he was trapped. 

His cheeks were wet, and it took him a second to realise that he was crying. Oh well, it didn’t really matter anyway. Darkness was surrounding the edges of his vision, slowly granting him peace. 

He closed his eyes, letting it happen, and he almost thought he felt a hand stroking his hair, with only the sensation of coolness following, but that must have been a hallucination. 

* * *

He drifted fitfully in and out of sleep for the next… however long. Time didn’t mean anything down here. 

It took a few tries to wake up, exhaustion draping across his bones like the weighted blankets Ben used to have, but when he finally became lucid enough to be aware of his body, he froze. There was a coldness that was spreading through his shoulder and legs, bone deep and parasitic in the way only a ghost’s touch could be. 

His brain was still coming back online after sleeping for so long, and before he could think about why opening his eyes this far into withdrawals was a very very bad idea, he blinked his eyes open, looking for the source of the cold. 

Ben was there, standing over him, and all the breath was punched out of his gut as he forced himself not to cringe away, to _look_ , and see the blood that covered Ben's face, the intestines that spilt out of his stomach in a sick replica of the Horror. Klaus swore he could see Ben's heart through his ribs, still and unbeating.

The only thing that looked like _Ben,_ not ghost Ben, was his eyes, large and earnest and lighting up when Klaus looked at him and god– he couldn’t do it he just couldn’t handle whatever Ben was going to say to him about his death, it would ruin him, he knew it. 

Without thinking, he leapt out of bed, pressing himself into a corner until it hurt and desperately holding his hands to his ears as Ben continued to speak, his voice loud and anxious. 

He didn’t _want_ to think about why he sounded scared instead of furious, he didn’t want to think that he had left his brother all alone for nearly a _year._ He didn’t want to think of anything, he just wanted to stop existing. For just a second. 

Eventually, Ben stopped, but Klaus didn’t dare relax from his position, even when his muscles started to shake from fatigue. Surely Ben would do something now? Klaus was helpless, he had no way of blocking him out, so Ben should be taking the opportunity for his revenge or whatever. At least he should scream at him until his ears rang, blaming him for his death until Klaus couldn’t do anything but beg for forgiveness. 

He should do that because that was what any ghost would do. Ghosts weren’t… people. They didn’t care about him, they didn’t think about anything but their deaths, so _why_ wasn’t Ben acting like how he should?

He didn’t know how long he spent curled up, waiting for something bad to happen. It was long enough that his muscles gave out, leaving him feeling horribly vulnerable despite the fact that ghosts couldn’t touch him. It was long enough that the tight ball of panic had eased slightly, as much as it ever could without chemical assistance.

Other than Ben, there were a few ghosts wandering around, but thank fucking god they weren’t that interested in him. 

He counted his lucky blessings, but didn’t try to move from his position curled up tight in the corner. He knew from experience that ghosts could turn on him in a second, and they were probably only leaving him alone because they thought he was a ghost as well. Who knows, maybe going cold turkey had killed him and he was a ghost. He felt bad enough that it could be true. 

Still, he remained in his fetal position until he had about ten different cramps in his body, and his arms grew too tired to hold his hands to his ears any more, and he let them fall limp to the ground, numbly listening to the ghost’s screams. 

They all sounded like women, and like ghosts tended to do, they were ranting and raving about their deaths, furious and vengeful. He didn’t know how they would react when they realised he could see them, it really depended on the ghost. Sometimes they begged for help, sometimes they wanted to kill him, and sometimes they reacted to him as if he was another ghost. 

Without his hands over his ears keeping him from hearing them, he was forced to listen to them, listen to them say the same things that practically every ghost said. They were all supposed to be the same in the end. 

“You don’t—you don’t understand, I was just trying to feed her porridge, I was just trying to do my job! I don’t deserve this!”

"Lundi matin, L’empereur, sa femme et le p’tit prince, Sont venus chez moi, pour me serrer la pince. Comme j’étais parti, Le p’tit prince a dit."

“That little shit! She killed me just for some porridge! I will get her! She will rue the day she killed me!”

“Who’s she? Why won’t you talk to me?”

The last voice made him pause. It wasn’t high pitched like the other ghosts were, but it wasn’t particularly deep. Like a boy’s voice in the middle of puberty.

He took a deep breath, trying to loosen the ball of anxiety in his chest just a little bit. Evidence was pointing to Ben... _not_ being like other ghosts, namely violent and single minded, only caring about his death. In his brief moments of sobriety over the past year Ben had always just tried to get his attention instead of simply screaming at him for causing his death, so maybe–

He had to check, he just had to. He was probably going to be wrong and Ben would be exactly like every other ghost he’d met, but he just had to at least _check._ He owed it to him, after everything. 

Hesitantly, he jerkily turned his head until he could see the ghosts, and he zeroed in on Ben. 

Ben, who wasn’t screaming and declaring revenge like he was supposed to do, who was instead talking quietly, trying to convince the other ghosts into talking to him, when they were clearly too far gone to make sense even to themselves.

It was so much like the Ben he used to know that it made tears roll down his cheeks, his breath catch in his throat, as he realised _what_ exactly he had been running away from for the last year.

He wanted to be high. He wanted to hide in the fake reality that he had constructed for himself where he was just a victim of circumstance, that he only ever did it to hide from his brother’s screaming corpse, instead of the real world where he had ignored his lost and afraid brother for _months._ Something slick and black coiled in his chest and gut and it took him a while to realise that it was hate. Hate for himself, on behalf of everyone he had ever hurt.

He curled up in himself, tugging on his hair and uselessly choking back on sobs that kept pushing past his throat. _God,_ he really was the worst brother in the world, was he?

“Uh, Klaus?” Fuck. That was Ben’s voice, that was Ben’s voice and he sounded aware and sane and _worried_ and it took everything in him to hold back another sob, burying his face deep into his arms. “Klaus, why are you crying? Whatever it is, it’s gonna be okay, alright? It’s gonna be okay.” He felt a cool presence on his back, and he realised that it was Ben trying to comfort Klaus without even the ability to touch him. Klaus had always hated it when ghosts touched him, but just knowing that it was _Ben,_ the real Ben, who was still trying to comfort his brother, who had killed him and then done nothing but hurt him, made him feel _better,_ and he hated himself even more. 

“How–” He choked, the cool presence on his back giving him courage to carry on. “How can you _do_ that? How can you not hate me?”

Stunned silence, and Klaus waited, desperately hoping against hope that this wouldn’t all backfire on him.

“You… talked to me. You actually talked to me.” Ben's voice was quiet and in disbelief, and all Klaus could do was nod, his lips pressed tightly together.

This was the first time that he talked to Ben since that horrible, horrible mission, and it made sense that Ben needed some time to process it, he told himself. But then the presence left, and that was it, Ben had finally had enough and had decided to go on to wherever ghosts went when they moved on, before Ben spoke, quietly, and so like the Ben that Klaus remembered that he had to sob. “I…I did. At first. It took me a while to come back to myself but the first thing that I saw was you just–getting _high_ while everyone else was at my funeral–” 

Ben cut himself off, holding back a sob. Klaus had heard many ghosts cry, but none had pulled his heart out and threatened to choke him quite like _this._

After a pause, Ben continued, “I thought you didn’t care. I thought that you hated me, if you were willing to throw away your life just so you wouldn’t have to look at me.” Hate Ben? No no no, he could never hate Ben, could never hate any of his siblings. Even though he wanted to curl up and die, he forced his arms to lower from his head. Ben thought he hated him, he needed to fix that _immediately._

He sat up, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at Ben, even with the weight of his hopeful stare settling on his back, not yet. “So– so what changed your mind?”

“The ghosts,” Ben murmured, “I can see them too now, and it took awhile but… they made me realise what exactly you were running away from. Them, not me, right?”

“ _Yes.”_ He whispered. “I thought you were like them. I never _–_ I wouldn’t have– if i had _known–”_

“I _know_.” Ben replied, and shit, it really sounded like he was crying now. For real, honest to god tears.

Without his consent, his head moved from its bowed position to look at Ben, properly, for the first time in years.

There was the blood, there was the gore, but then there was Ben's _eyes_. Staring at him with more hope than Klaus thought eyes were capable of holding. He was suddenly, hysterically, happy that Ben had decided to take off his mask against their father’s orders when he did. Sure, he wished that Ben had never died at all, but the lack of the mask meant that Klaus could look at Ben and know it was _him._ No ghost had eyes like Ben's, full of care and concern.

With no cause at all, he started giggling, wheezing hard enough that he almost lost his breath, and for the first time in possibly _forever_ there was someone else laughing hysterically with him.

He still hated himself, but his hatred paled briefly in comparison to the pure _gratitude_ he felt.

Maybe everything wouldn’t be okay, but they weren't alone anymore. They had finally found each other.

* * *

Ben had literally never been happier in his entire life. 

The past year had been the worst he had ever experienced, and that was saying a lot, considering he grew up with Reginald Hargreeves as his father. He wished he could say that it was seeing Klaus destroy his life that made it so hard, but it wasn’t. It sucked, sure, but the worst part was that he wouldn’t stop _ignoring_ him.

No, not ignoring him, Klaus couldn’t see him, chose not to see him, because of how horrible he looked after he-

It didn’t matter, because everything was okay now, he had Klaus and he wouldn’t be alone ever again. 

Well, no, everything was not okay. They were still stuck in the vault that dad threw them– Klaus in, for some godly reason.

Granted, it was the final straw that got Klaus sober enough to actually _talk_ to him– Ben still couldn’t believe it– but it meant that whatever Dad had planned for Klaus was going to be more horrible than whatever Klaus’ old personal training was, since before he didn’t care whether or not Klaus was sober.

“What do you think he’ll do to me?”

Ben jerked at suddenly being addressed. This whole ‘being acknowledged’ thing might take more adjustment than he thought.

“I don’t know,” he murmured, which was the truth. He had long learnt not to think too much about what his training held for him, otherwise his brain, fueled by the latest lovecraftian horror he read, conjured up horrible nightmares of what would happen to him, often driving him into panic attacks and resulting in making his training even worse than it already was.

Klaus’ training must’ve been pretty consistent, if he didn’t already have this rule in place, he thought bitterly.

They stayed there, huddled up together for hours. Occasionally attempting to make small talk, but after a year of being ignored by and living in fear of the other, meant some awkwardness. They didn’t really need to talk anyway, Ben was more than happy to just be noticed, to just know that he could be seen.

For a long time, there was nothing but silence, the ghost’s wails, and Klaus’ increasingly shaky breathing until suddenly, there was a distant _thud_ as something landed on the ground far away. The elevator. 

They both froze, staring hard at the door as if it would eat them. a painfully long pause, and then a prolonged _creak_ as the door slowly opened to reveal—

Dad.

Neither of them were surprised, but Klaus’ breathing hitched anyway.

“Number Four. Are you sober?”

Despite being visibly terrified, Klaus couldn’t seem to help muttering, “Have you gotten over your fear of the dead, Number Four?”

Ben didn’t understand the quip, but whatever it was, it was clear that their father didn’t take kindly to that, eyebrows twitching into a scowl as his fingers tightened around his ever present cane. 

Despite being dead, Ben's own fingers started trembling from useless muscle memory. He wasn’t sure if he was afraid for Klaus or himself.

Klaus didn’t have the luxury of being invisible like Ben, and all he could do was shrink into himself as their father advanced and grabbed tight onto his brother’s arm, and _no no no what was he doing let go of his brother—_

Dad pulled Klaus close, gazing hard into Klaus’ eyes. “Hm. Your pupils are of normal size, and you seem to be somewhat alert. Can you see any ghosts?” Staring into Klaus’ face it was impossible to miss his eyes flickering briefly over to Ben. “Good. Then you’re ready for your personal training.”

“Per-personal training? Wasn’t locking me in the dark with ghosts personal training? I thought that you put me here because the mausoleum is gone–” Klaus chattered aimlessly, frantically, as Dad dragged him out of the vault, pulling him to stairs that went impossibly deeper. Ben wondered if either of them would see the light of day ever again.

As they walked down, certain parts of the stairway tugged at his memory, little things that made him more and more uneasy, (but no response from the Horror) but he couldn’t figure out what about the staircase that was so eerily familiar until dad opened the door.

Oh god. This was— this was where his father had taken him for personal training when he was little. Where he and the Horror were tortured, forced to hurt each other, until they both slowly learned how to be good little soldiers.

Just merely being here was enough for his useless heart to start pounding, his lungs to start expanding, drawing in no breath but unable to stop anyways.

Klaus had a similar reaction. Just seeing the potential torture devices in the room, the table with straps in the centre of the room was enough for him to lurch, grabbing onto the door frame in desperation. His arms, weak from years of drug abuse, were no match for the freaky alien-like strength of their father’s. He tugged Klaus effortlessly from the doorway and put him onto the table, holding him down as he struggled as if his life depended on it. And it probably did.

The thought that his brother could die snapped Ben out of it, just enough to scream, “Stop it! Let go of him!” But it was useless, he was _useless_. There was nothing he could do, he was just an observer to the torture his brother was undoubtedly about to go through. Klaus kept looking over to him, as if Ben could do _anything_ , and so he missed– _mom_ stepping out of the shadows, smiling as if there was nothing amiss, nothing horribly wrong.

Ben watched, frozen, as mom took over, methodically strapping Klaus down as dad left to get something in another part of the room, a dazed smile frozen on her face. Was it just his imagination, the slight hesitancy of her movements? He loved mom, they all did, but they knew that she was a robot, programmed to love them, (well, except for Diego), but Ben had never been so cruelly reminded that above all else, she was a machine made by and for Reginald. It was like a punch in the face, and the final push for tears to start leaking out of his eyes, as he stood utterly helpless.

Klaus still kept looking at Ben for help, his head completely turned away from mom, even as he was strapped down, robbed of his movement. He moved closer, offering flimsy comfort where he could, and so he had a perfect view of the surprise on his face when mom put an affectionate hand on his cheek, and the resignation that almost instantly followed. Had dad ordered mom to do something like this to Klaus before? 

Mom’s hand left his brother’s cheek and moved down to grab Klaus’ wrist, producing a butterfly needle out of nowhere. Klaus jerked, but he was stuck, utterly pinned down. ”What–what the fuck! What are you going to do to me? Mom!” she shushed him, stroking his hair. The programing to comfort her son overriding the order Reginald gave her for just a moment.

“Don’t worry, silly, it’s just a pinch, nothing to be afraid of.” Klaus struggled anew once he realised that she was treating this as nothing more than a doctor’s appointment, and she probably thought it was. Despite his efforts she quickly stuck the needle just above his umbrella tattoo. “There! That wasn’t so bad now was it? You were so brave!” she cooed, giving Klaus a kiss on the forehead. He slumped, exhausted and desperately holding back sobs. This had been the stuff of his nightmares ever since he ran away, Ben knew. Klaus talked in his sleep a lot.

Mom lifted Klaus’ shirt to stick electrodes on his chest, and rapid fire beeping filled the room. 

It was just another sick reminder of what they had, and he didn’t. He wished he was alive, _he wished he was alive._ Then maybe he could do something. Or maybe he would be completely unaware, reading a book without a care in the world. Maybe if he had never died, this wouldn’t be happening in the first place. This was all his fault.

He grimly put his hand over Klaus’. He couldn’t touch him without falling through him, so it was more of an awkward hover, but Klaus gave him a grateful look anyway. Or at least, Ben hoped it was a grateful look, it was hard to tell when the fear of what was going to happen clouded his brothers’ face.

He sighed, curling his fingers a bit into Klaus and accidentally causing him to shudder.

He wished he was alive.

* * *

Ben’s presence, while comforting in the knowledge that there's at least _one_ person on his side, was useless in the face of their advancing father with an IV bag full of _something._

Struggling was useless, but he couldn’t help but give a few tugs at his arm with the butterfly needle in it. “Ooh, is that full of what I think it is? I must have been a good boy after all. Tell me, what was the point of locking me in that vault to get me sober if you’re just gonna get me high again?” Pure nervousness forced the words out of him, but all it took was a hand on his arm to shut him up, heart in his throat.

His father looked at him coolly, “if i’m correct, this holds the key to your potential. Now hold still.”

“Wait!” he shrieked, watching in terror as his father inserted the tube in the butterfly needle, “At least tell me what it is first!”

Whatever was in the bag had made it to his wrist. Whether he liked it or not, the liquid inside was making rounds in his body, _infecting_ him. Was it his imagination, or was everything tilting out of focus? His father said something, a complicated drug name, but it was muffled, underwater. What was wrong with his ears?

He rolled his head over to Ben. The blood that was ever present on his face appeared to have tear tracks. Ha, it was almost like he was dying again.

Darkness suddenly rushed in, and he stopped thinking.

* * *

_Was that a scream of horror or was that just his imagination? It was hard to tell, everything was grey, here. Except for his crop top. Stupid thing. Oh. there was a girl in front of him. He didn’t really know how to talk to kids his age. Well, she probably wasn’t his age, she looked like she was ten. He was a closer age to an adult than her. Ha, wow, that was weird. He did not feel anything like an adult._

_The girl was still looking at him. She looked pretty familiar now that he thought about it. Not wanting to get up from the floor he stuck his tongue at her. She rolled her eyes, sighing. “Guess I can't blame you for this one, with you being tied down and all.”_

_Was he? He couldn’t remember. Everything felt floaty and peaceful and he never wanted to leave._

_The girl crouched near his head, “Look, i’m sorry, but unless you can do something about this, you’re just gonna keep coming and I'm gonna have to keep sending you back. You can’t stay here. Not yet, anyway.”_

_He frowned at her. He didn’t like that idea at all._

_“Bye,” She said absent-mindedly, turning away to something more interesting than Klaus, as_ _he was pulled back into the living’s arms._

* * *

Coming back to consciousness was slow, his lungs were on fire, despite the oxygen mask over his face, and his head was pounding like bitch. Unable to resist, he groaned, with the unintended side effect of attracting mom’s attention. “Klaus! Darling, you're awake!” She squealed, pulling Klaus into a hug as best she could with him tied down. Her hug knocked Klaus’ head into the right position to see Ben rocking back and forth next to him on a chair, his eyes wide. 

“You were dead, you–you were dead, I couldn't _see_ you, oh–oh my god–”

Mom kissed his cheek and pulled back. “Stay here, I’ll get your father.”

“What? No, no no no no, mom, don’t get dad, _mom.”_ She left, oblivious, or uncaring. It didn’t really matter which. He jerked at the restraints but they had no give, and all Klaus could do was let his head fall back with a painful _clang_ against the metal table.

“Klaus!” Ben snapped out of his ramblings, scrambling so fast to Klaus that he actually flinched, forgetting that Ben couldn’t touch him. “Oh my god, Klaus, are you okay?”

He grinned, ignoring the sudden urge to cough his lungs out. “Just fine, Benny. I passed out, is all.”

Ben shook his head frantically. “No you didn’t, you died! I could feel it, you flatlined!”

His grin fell off his face. He couldn’t have died, he just passed out. Ben was just overreacting because Klaus was his only link to the living, but… how would he have misinterpreted a flatline? The more he thought about it, the more it made sense. That first night when he escaped, there was that grey landscape and annoying girl, the same with his other overdoses. 

_God,_ he did _not_ want this to be true. He just wanted to rewind time back to before this whole mess started, back with Diego, eating his shitty microwaved scrambled eggs and pretending that they were people together. 

Ben watched him sadly, slowly calming down from his own panic attack, via breathing into his hands. Klaus had no idea how the logistics of that worked, or how Ben could even _have_ a panic attack, but it seemed to work.

Without warning, Reginald marched in, startling both Klaus and Ben right out of their skin. He laid there, horribly vulnerable and open as dad scrutinised him from the doorway. He brought a watch out of his chest pocket and walked closer, sitting in the chair that Ben was occupying. Any righteous anger he would have felt on Ben’s behalf was overshadowed when he saw Reginald hold back a shudder. Hey, it was the little victories.

Dad studied his watch. “It has taken you ten minutes to come back to life. Disappointing, considering I was working with your past experiences of overdose. We will have to work to improve on this.”

He stared at him, dumbstruck. “ _Work to improve?”_ He whispered. “What about dying is there to improve on?”

His father stared at him like he was dumb, and then reached into his pants pocket and pulled out his dreaded notebook, flipping to a page and pointing at it. “November 20th, 2005, Number Four overdosed and came back half an hour later. January 8th, 2006, overdosed and came back in fifteen minutes.” He had gotten off of the chair, and was marching around the table, speaking loudly and clearly as if he had taken over a lesson from Pogo. “October 15th, 2006, overdosed and came back in five minutes.”

He stopped and fixed him with a stare, as if somehow expecting Klaus’ muddled brain to make sense of his ramblings. He closed his book with a snap. “Clearly, you need to try harder,” He muttered, moving to the other side of the table.

Klaus barely had time to scream before Reginald twisted the dial that let the poison drip down, down, down the tube into his bloodstream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :DD ben's back!! but they're still stuck with reggie, they just can't win smh


	6. Chapter 6

Ten minutes.

* * *

Ten minutes.

* * *

Ten minutes. “It’s almost as if you're trying to spite me, Number Four.”

* * *

He stopped talking to the girl. Six minutes.

* * *

Four minutes.

* * *

One.

* * *

Dad seemed satisfied with that, and he finally, _finally_ , removed the butterfly needle from his wrist. He didn’t remove the oxygen mask. Or release him from his bindings.

Ben was tired, he was tired, all he wanted to do right now was sleep. Death wasn’t as restful as fucking _anybody_ thought. Neither of his parents needed to sleep, but Pogo came in to talk to Dad. Klaus didn't hear what he said, still drifting in and out of consciousness, but whatever it was, it convinced Dad to give him a _break._ Mom gave him a kiss on his forehead and turned off the lights leaving him alone with his ghosts. Klaus didn’t have the time or energy to worry about it, almost instantly falling asleep.

* * *

They came back too soon, with knives. Ben groaned, Klaus couldn’t do anything but close his eyes.

* * *

One hour, slit both wrists all down his forearms.

* * *

An hour and a half, a slit across his throat.

* * *

Three hours, they stabbed him in the gut and watched him die the slowest, most painful death he had ever experienced. It took them an hour to realise they needed to remove the knife from his gut if he was to come back. 

* * *

In the Moments in between, while they were getting the knives cleaned up and deciding how to kill him next, he watched his blood slowly drip, drip, drip. Off of his body and onto the floor, to be washed off by Mom. He was like Ben, ha ha.

That wasn’t even remotely funny.

For some reason, he started sobbing right then and there, ignoring Mom’s coos, and Ben trying to calm him down and utterly failing. He only stopped when his father pointed a gun at his head and pulled the trigger.

* * *

There was a sudden lightness to him, as if he was floating in midair, but that wasn’t right, he was strapped down. Warmth, a solid weight all around him. Was someone touching him? He stopped caring about it as soon as he was deposited onto something cool and soft, letting himself drift away.

* * *

He drifted to awareness slowly, shifting slightly, and marvelling at how _comfortable_ he felt. It even smelled almost like his childhood bed, but that wasn’t right because that would mean–

He sat up, almost immediately falling over when nausea hit and all of the memories from last night invaded his head. He had–oh, god– he–

“Klaus! Klaus, breathe. Dad’s gone, I promise. Just–just _breathe,_ okay?” It took a second for him to realise that it was Ben who was speaking, and that Ben was perfectly sane and not about to scream and blame him for his death. His voice wobbled a bit at the end, prompting Klaus to look up. God, he still wasn’t used to Ben's new… look. He startled for a second, but he recovered pretty quickly. Kind of. Once he got past the blood and gore, he could see how exhausted Ben looked, like he had fifty panic attacks at once, and if that was how Ben looked, he didn’t want to think about how he looked. Looking down at himself, he realised with a jolt that _someone_ had put him back in his uniform. _Ew._

“Wha–” pain flared in his throat, and he reflectively coughed only making it hurt even more. Was there no justice in this cruel world? He gingerly rubbed his hand against his throat. Nothing but a scar. He tried again. “W-what– what hap–happened?” His voice sounded like all of his puberty had condensed into one sentence, but Ben understood him anyway. God, he had missed him.

“Dad– shot you… and while you were coming back, Pogo convinced Dad to let you have a break. I checked around. You can’t leave.”

He gave Ben a grin. His brother should know better by now that you can’t keep Number Four locked up for long. He just had to figure it out. Breathing deep to alleviate the pain in his… everywhere, he looked around at his surroundings. He was in his room, which was surprising. He was expecting Dad to put him back in the vault, or just keep him on the table forever. It was almost exactly how he left it, ever since he was dragged out of his bed on that fateful night. Almost. There were bars on the window now, and after a quick look, all of his hidden stashes were gone. His room had been converted to a prison.

Sighing, he got up. His door was definitely locked but there was no harm in trying. Besides, he felt better about his chances of escaping than if he was just put in the vault. Dad usually took a lot of precautions when dealing with him, but he couldn’t predict some of the batshit crazy things Klaus had done before to escape. 

“Hey, Ben? How much force do you think it would take to break through the wall?”

“We are _not_ breaking through the wall. Dad would catch you in seconds.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” He snarked, turning the handle of his door, freezing when it opened. 

Heart in his throat, he pushed it open, only for the door to hit something and receive an annoyed “ow!”

He blinked and stared at the door, wondering how the hell he was still so high he was hallucinating talking doors with feelings, until the door pushed open on its own, and their brother’s tired face came into view. 

“Wha? _Luther?”_ He croaked out.

“Hi, Klaus.” He said grimly.

“Wait. What the fuck? What are you doing here?” He looked over at Ben for help, but all he did was shrug and shake his head, eyes wide in confusion. Big help he was.

“I'm making sure that you don’t run off and get high. I was… actually getting pretty worried about you, y’know?”

“No… _” No_ , he did not know. He was under the firm impression that Luther hated Klaus for killing Ben, and would probably beat him into next week if he ever dared to show his face here again.

“Oh.” Luther’s whole body seemed to shrink a bit, and it made him seem like a confused and hurt seventeen year old, not the brave and strong Number One. The stark difference made his head hurt, but he had more important things to worry about. 

“Has… everybody left?”

Luther looked away, crossing his arms defensively. “Not _everybody._ Allison’s still here. And Mom. And Pogo.”

Ignoring the fact that two of the three people Luther had listed couldn’t even leave the grounds, he focused on a much, much more important fact. “ _Vanya_ left?”

Luther looked even more like a kicked puppy. “Yeah. Dad sent her to college. So she can be out of the way.”

“Hey! Lucky Number Seven! I wish I could go to college.” His voice was getting stronger, maybe it was so weak before because of all the screaming he did last night. It still hurt like a bitch, though.

Luther gave him a tight smile, but said nothing else, since clearly the only person making an effort in this conversation was him. Not that he really cared, he was tired and aching all over and all he wanted to do was get high and put this whole incident out of his mind.

But the only way to do that was escape. While breaking down the wall to escape was a fun idea, Ben was unfortunately right. Plus, Dad had _definitely_ put a security camera outside his window. 

There _was_ one thing he could do, and it’s been so long since he got to wind Luther up.

“I'm bored.” He declared, and made to leave, only to, predictably, be stopped by a muscular arm.

“Hey! You’re not allowed to leave!”

Klaus fixed his brother with a look. The lazy, smug one that Luther hated. “Not allowed to leave my room, or the academy?”

“Uh–”

“That’s what I thought!” He swiftly ducked under Luther's arm, scurrying away as fast as he could, while his brother yelled after him. This was kinda fun. Almost like he never left.

He made a sharp left, around a corner, and then another, hiding in one of the spare rooms as Luther rushed past. “So this is your grand escape plan?” Ben asked, hiding with him, just like the old days.

“Nah. He’ll catch me eventually, but he’ll be so afraid of getting into trouble with Dad for letting me escape my room so easily, he’ll just have to say that he misinterpreted Dad’s instructions. They must’ve been pretty vague in the first place if he was confused about where to keep me, right?”

Ben didn’t say anything. Klaus frowned.

“Hey, are you okay? You haven't been your usual talkative self, mein bruder.”

“I just didn’t want to interrupt you and Luther.”

He gave Ben an incredulous look. “Uh, Benny boy? You’re dead! You can talk to me all you want! Nobody will tell you off!”

Ben glared at him. “Stop doing that. Stop pretending that everything is okay. We’re prisoners in our own home, our Dad had just spent all day and night killing you! Again and again! And _if_ we escape- _if,_ I'm gonna have to watch you get high all over again and forget all about me!”

By the end of his rant, he was yelling, and Klaus felt small in the face of his quiet, brother’s anger. Was he wrong about being turning into a malevolent spirit? Didn’t he see that Klaus would never, ever ignore him again? He was suddenly unsure.

“Ben…” 

“What did you just say?”

“ _Christ_ on a cracker! Luther, where did you learn these super stealthy sneak attacks? Can’t be from Dad.” Fuck, Luther had caught him and heard him talking to _Ben._ Fuck. Not that he wasn’t planning on _not_ telling Luther, but he hoped it would be much, much later. Like, when he was out of this place with minimal risk of getting tortured if Luther tattled, later.

Luther wasn’t taking any of his bullshit. “No. You said Ben's name. Why would you say his name?”

“Uh…” he flicked his eyes over to Ben's for help, but he looked so stupidly hopeful, he knew it was a lost cause.

“You can see him.” Luther squared his shoulders, advancing on Klaus and using every intimidation tactic he had. Violence was the only way he knew how to get answers, and Klaus _really_ did not want to be on the wrong end of those fists.

“Well–yeah, but i–”

“What are you guys doing?”

Allison! “Allison!” His big sister, his saviour! God, he missed her.

Luther backed off, and Klaus released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Ben looked relieved, too. “Allison, he can see Ben. He was talking to him.”

Allison froze and looked at him, he gave her an encouraging smile. Maybe she could talk Luther out of tattling to Dad. She remembered the nights they spent dressing up and painting each other’s nails, right?

But the look she was giving him wasn't surprised, or horrified, it was just sad, and he didn't understand why until she spoke.

“Did… Dad tell you why he’s here?”

It was Luther's turn to be confused. “Uh, he couldn’t handle winter, so he came back, but Dad doesn’t want him to be high while he’s here.”

She shook her head sadly, and a pit of dread stirred up in his stomach. 

“No, Luther, Dad told me that he picked Klaus up from a mental hospital after he had a psychotic breakdown. He isn’t really seeing Ben, it’s just a hallucination.”

Ben made some horrible noise from somewhere beside him, but Klaus wouldn’t know because the world was falling apart around him. 

“No– no he isn’t. He’s real, he’s here. My whole thing is seeing ghosts, right? Why wouldn’t I see him?”

“I'm sure you believe that, Klaus.” Allison said with a kind smile, and Klaus hated fighting, hated arguing, especially with his sister, but _this was the last fucking straw._

“Klaus, please, just leave it, focus on escaping.”

“No! Fuck you! Are you really going to believe the man who _tortured_ us for our whole lives over your _brother? Really?”_

“Well, you’re not exactly known for being trustworthy, Klaus. I mean, look at all the times you’ve lied to us about something just to get some drugs!” Luther exclaimed. Klaus gritted his teeth.

“ _I wouldn't lie about this.”_ He hissed, horribly, horribly hurt. His siblings didn’t believe him. _They didn’t believe him_. The people who were supposed to have his back, but didn't, because Klaus was a liar and an junkie, and they only cared about him because they had to. They had to pretend like growing up in this hellhole gave them any sense of solidarity.

Allison gave him another sad look, and gently grabbed his hand. As suddenly as it came, all the fight drained out of him. He didn’t care about this anyway. He just wanted to leave. “Hey, how about we paint each other’s nails, like old times? It could distract you from the shakes.”

He was indeed shaking. But not from any withdrawal symptoms, as far as he was aware. Everything was just too much. His neck hurt and he just wanted to get high.

She gently led him to her room, selecting a colour for him when he stayed petulantly silent. Pink so bright it hurt his eyes. His favourite colour.

There was a sniffle from next to him, and he glanced over to see Ben crying. Right, however horrible it was to find that his siblings don't take Klaus seriously at all, even for shit like this, it would be even more horrible to realise that nobody believed that Ben was there. That he was stuck with him, good and proper, and it was all Klaus’ fault. 

He _had_ to try. He couldn’t be the only thing Ben had. He had to convince at least one person. For Ben. “I really do see him,” he whispered

“Sure, Klaus.” She said absentmindedly, painting his pinkie with a steady hand.

“I _really do._ I promise. Look, he’s sitting on your bed.”

“Stop, Kaus.”

“I mean it! He’s crying, he just wants to talk to you again.”

“Klaus!”

“He doesn’t even look that bad, I promise! Once you get past all the gore it’s like he never died!”

“Four! I heard a rumor that you stopped talking about Ben! Just stop!”

His mouth snapped shut with a click. They stared at each other, frozen. 

Allison sighed, wiping the tears from her eyes. 

“Look, I understand that you feel guilty about Ben dying, but that doesn’t excuse you from doing shit like this. We have feelings too.” She lowered her head to catch his eyes, and she sounded so reasonable, so sure that they were in the right, and maybe they were. Maybe Klaus was the asshole here, making his sibling’s lives a misery because he didn’t know how to do anything else. “You know, I was happy you're here. I was really worried about you. So let’s not ruin it by holding on to the past like this, okay? Let’s just paint each other’s nails.”

“ _God,”_ Ben sobbed, “Why didn’t you just _shut up?”_

Klaus ended up being too shaky to paint her nails, so she painted his toenails a bottle green while she talked about all the movie roles she was going to get, her concerns about leaving Luther, and should she straighten her hair or leave it natural for the audition? Klaus didn’t say a word. Couldn’t, because all he wanted to talk about was Ben.

* * *

Klaus didn’t sleep a wink that night, and Ben was unable to sleep. They still haven't talked. Ben was too angry and Klaus was too scared to find out if Allison’s rumour extended to talking to his brother. 

Ben might still care about him on some level, though, since he warned him that Mom was coming. 

Mom should’ve been in her charging station right now, but maybe having less kids around meant less reason for her to be active. He hoped not, he didn’t like the idea of her being shoved in a wardrobe like a vacuum cleaner

She smiled, grabbed his hand, and told him that ‘his father just wanted to do a quick little check up on you, to see if you’re doing okay.’ It didn’t matter if he was to be deposited back to bed or not, since the mere idea of seeing Dad made his hands shake, and he knew he wouldn't get any sleep, even if he tried. 

He wondered if Mom remembered what she helped her creator do to her son last night. Her primary objective was to protect and nurture her children, so how did she deal with it when Reginald ordered her to do the opposite? Did she block it out to rationalize the hurt she caused? Did she even need to rationalize at all? It was questions that he spent years avoiding, but seemed eager to hound him now, when he was tired and vulnerable and he just wanted Mom to give him a hug.

She didn’t take him downstairs, thank god, but she did take him to the infirmary which was almost as bad because this was where Ben _died._ He never got to see Ben in the infirmary, but his death was stained on the walls, in the very being of this place. Ben’s ghost felt it too, he hugged himself and moved closer to Klaus, because Klaus was his only source of comfort, since he fucked it all up for his brother.

Dad was waiting for him with his stupid book, pen poised in the air, at the ready. He had an empty book to write down his observations about their powers for each of them, sometimes multiple, depending on how interesting they were. Klaus only ever had one. It was green with a golden number four printed on the middle, so there was no confusion on who it was about. He never let them read their books, much to the irritation of Five, he suddenly remembered. That was nice, he hadn’t thought of Five in a while.

His father ordered him to get on the table, and he did so quickly. He was ordered to take off his jacket and shirt, and he did that too, with minimal sarcastic remarks. It was almost like he was auditioning for the role of Luther in a play. The good little soldier.

He came back online as his father poked and prodded at the various scars he gained overnight, holding back his hair as Dad felt around for the bullet scar somewhere around his temple. Everything hurt.

His father stepped back and started to scribble something in Klaus’ book, and he didn’t know what he did to deserve Ben, because his brother walked behind Dad and read what he was writing. Ben was usually such a good boy when he was alive, and did anything to avoid their father’s wrath, so seeing him so blatantly reading what Dad had forbidden them to read was genuinely the funniest thing he had ever seen.

“Does something amuse you, Number Four?”

He valiantly squashed down a smile. “No, Daddy.”

Against all odds, the corner of Ben's mouth twitched up in a grin. “He’s just writing that while you heal fast, the injury you received isn’t as if it never happened.” A pause, “It’s pretty interesting, actually.”

He smiled, humouring Ben, but he didn’t feel brave enough to try and talk to him yet.

“Now, Number Four,” Dad suddenly spoke up, delightfully unaware that one of his children had just broken one of his many, many rules, “How do your injuries feel?”

“Um…” he stalled, thinking, “It still hurts, but it’s not as… sharp? As it was before. Like, it aches.”

Dad nodded, scribbling something else in his book, Ben dutifully read out what he wrote, “'Number Four is experiencing psychosomatic pain in the area of injury.’” What the fuck did that mean?

They must be getting better on their twin telepathy, because Ben answered for him as though he had asked the question out loud. 

“I think that it’s like, even though your injuries are completely healed, your brain hasn’t actually caught up yet, since human beings aren't supposed to heal that fast? I don’t know, it’s just a theory.”

It was as good as any theory, and _leagues_ better than whatever Dad was cooking up. “Stupid brain.” He muttered. Did that count as talking to Ben? He hoped so.

Dad read over his notes, and nodded to himself. “Come with me.” 

“Uh…“ he hesitated. “Mom promised that I'd get to go back to bed after this, so…”

“You should know better than to listen to her. I don’t have any time for your hysterics.” He really didn’t, since he grabbed Klaus’ forearm in a bruising grip. It was all too familiar to that night he brought Klaus to the mausoleum, to last night, and panic had him desperately jerking at his arm, clawing at his father’s hand.

“Where are you taking me?” But all he got in reply was an irritated sigh, and he redoubled his efforts, “no no no no no, don’t take me back there, not so soon, please!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I've allowed you a whole day of rest.”

“No!” He screamed, and the burst of energy he felt that night at the mausoleum came back, only this time he didn’t pass out. He opened his eyes– When had they closed?– and the floor was a good few feet away. Scalpels and bandages and everything that would be in an infirmary was flying around him, the ghosts were screaming, but not at him. No, they were attacking his father, scratching at his skin, trying to gouge his eyes out, screaming that he’d killed them. But Klaus didn’t care about that– didn’t care about his father’s victims. That was old news, anyway. All he had eyes for was Ben. Ben, who looked so small, and so afraid, and how could Ben have been the one who looked after him? It was clearly the other way around, he needed to stop this, he needed to leave so that Ben wouldn’t be so scared anymore. So that he would be safe.

As quickly as it came, the energy fueling his powers left, and he fell to the ground, along with almost everything in the room. But he couldn’t stop now, he needed to leave, he needed to get out of this horrible place. Everything was so loud and so dangerous and so confusing, and Ben was the only one who made sense, who was _real._

He ran, he didn’t see the hallways, or even feel the ground below him. Hell, he wasn’t even sure that he even had a heartbeat. All that mattered was getting out, and the ghosts howling behind him, robbed of their revenge. He distantly wondered if his father was even still alive.

The cool air was a shock to his system, jumpstarting his heart into beating again, he was breathing again, or was he breathing this whole time? He ducked into an alleyway, out of sight, out of danger, and realised that he was breathing much too hard, he was suffocating.

“Shit– uh, Klaus, I think you’re having a panic attack, just? Try to breathe, okay?”

But that was impossible, couldn’t he see? Klaus wasn’t having a panic attack, he was dying. His heart was going to explode, and maybe this was all in his father’s plans, maybe this was a sick experiment to see if he could die of fright and he would wake up on the table utterly helpless–

“Breathe! Klaus, you have to breathe. Please, you’re scaring me!”

Almost against his will, a big breath of air filled his lungs, followed by a second one, then a third. With each breath he slowly slid against the rough brick wall onto the dirty ground. He was out. He was free.

But he didn’t _feel_ free, Dad was surely only a few steps behind him, and he needed to get far, far away, to the other side of town, to another country. He lurched up, rubbing his arms against the cold wind and ran as fast as he felt able, which was really just speed walking, intermittent with light jogs. Ben followed him, silent now that his only link to the living wasn't in any danger of suffocating.

He would never let this happen again, he was _never_ going to be taken back again. He would change– he wouldn’t get as high anymore, he would pay attention to what part of town he was in, he would be constantly vigilant, he had to.

Tears pricked his eyes and for some reason, he didn’t want Ben to see him cry, which was strange, as he always had no qualms in the past when Ben was alive. But things were different now. Things were never going back to normal.

Whether he liked it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well... at least he's out!


	7. Chapter 7

_Number Four has proven to be more powerful than I predicted. He is full of untapped potential, but there is no point in forcing it out now. Despite all I have done for them, the children have abandoned the cause, while it is only a matter of years before the apocalypse comes. I need to find a way to bring the academy back together. Perhaps Four will be useful, perhaps not. All I know is that the full force of the academy is needed to stop the apocalypse. Maybe Number Four’s ability to see the dead could be used to my advantage…_

* * *

Diego was going out of his mind. He knew he shouldn’t have helped Klaus, he _knew_ what was going to happen, and yet, he was _still_ upset when he was inevitably betrayed.

It wasn’t fair. Out of everything in his crummy hotel room that was of monetary value, he just _had_ to pawn Diego's favourite throwing knife. Klaus _always_ did this. Allison’s clothes, Vanya’s pills, their brother always found a way to leech off of them like a parasite. If he told the guys at the gym he now worked in about his brother, they would tell him to cut off ties with him, not to let his brother take advantage of him like this again. And Diego would do that, _should_ do that, but…

He hadn’t seen Klaus since he ran off with Diego's knife.

And logically, he knew that he was fine, probably just enjoying the remains of the money he got from pawning his knife with his tweaker friends. But despite that knowledge and the betrayal still stinging, his brother had taken up residence in his head, thoughts about him popping up when he least expected. _I wonder where Klaus is. It’s cold tonight, hopefully that idiot found a shelter. Is he okay?_

It was driving him insane, and the only way to fix it was to find him, maybe confront him about the knife again, make him sweat a little. Definitely not check if he was doing okay or anything. 

So he started to track Klaus down, which was much, much harder than last time. Was Klaus avoiding him deliberately? Little asshole.

Well, if Klaus didn't want to see him, he wouldn’t force him. He shouldn’t have looked in the first place. When he left the academy he made a promise to himself to cut all ties with people from his past. He had mostly succeeded, but Klaus had a way of weaseling past his defences and setting up camp. 

So, despite letting more time slip by with no sign of Klaus, he was still always on the back of his mind. He kept the radio he stole from a policeman on his bedside table, tuned to the overdoses and arrests of drug addicts on the streets. He avoided scrambled eggs.

Mom always used to say that if he thought about something enough, it would happen, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when, as he was on his way to meet up with one of his new friends on a (maybe?) date, he ran into Klaus.

Or, less of ran into Klaus, and more so caught sight of him in the crowd, and immediately pounced on him, dragging him into an alleyway so strangers wouldn’t be listening in on their conversation.

“Mmfh!” Klaus struggled, but Diego couldn’t let go of him yet, he had to make sure that the alleyway was free of any addicts or hobos so that he could–

“Ow!”

Klaus darted out of his grip and he clutched his injured hand– the one time he decided to not wear gloves– and he glared at Klaus. “Biting me? Really? I guess I shouldn't have thought you were above that.”

“Wha–Diego? It’s really you? We thought you were a rapist!”

He blinked, brushing past that last comment. Klaus was probably exaggerating; he always did. “You seriously didn’t recognize me?”

“Well, not with that… what is that, a moustache? _”_

He felt his face heat up. “It’s a _beard._ It makes me look manly.” Klaus fixed him with the exact same look Al had given him, and he felt his face heat up even more. 

“I hate to break it to you, buddy, but that is the most pathetic attempt–”

“Whatever.” He interrupted, scanning Klaus carefully from head to toe. He looked… _bad._ His clothes were a ragged mess of things he picked up from the thrift store, and things he probably found in the garbage. He couldn’t tell if the bags under his eyes were from lack of sleep, or days old eyeliner. His hair was greasy, and looking closely, he could see his brother’s blown pupils. He was high, as always. He held back a sigh.

“Any chance you’d gotten sober?”

“Well, dad did send me to a rehab of sorts. If you could call it that.”

He straightened up, taken by surprise, “Dad tried to get you sober?”

“Eeeeh,” Klaus tilted his head and waved his hand. He caught glimpses of something dark on his palm, but klaus carried on before he could get a proper look. “It was less about getting me sober, and more about experimenting on me. Did you know that if you shoot me in the head I'll just come back, good as new!”

He rolled his eyes. Klaus was lying again, for no good reason other than the fact that he probably found this fucking funny. “Bullshit,” Klaus stilled, “You've probably just been getting high off the money you got by pawning my knife.”

“...Actually, I only got a few baggies worth out of it. Drugs are expensive y’know.”

“Is t-that suppo-supposed to make me feel _fucking_ b-bet- _better_?” He hissed, and was appalled to find out that tears were pricking his eyes. He was missing his maybe-date with Eudora for this.

Klaus almost looked smaller than the day Ben died. Diego would feel bad if the lump in his throat didn’t hurt so much.

Swallowing, he noticed that his brother’s head was tilted to the side, as if he was listening to someone, before he quietly said, “No, no it wasn’t. That was mean of me to say.”

Diego almost didn’t hear it, and he had a feeling it wasn’t wholly meant for him. The idea that the fucking _air_ , or whatever the hell Klaus was hallucintating took presidence over Diego, when this was supposed to be _his_ confrontation, _his_ apology, was so infuriating that it almost made him storm off.

Instead he clenched his fists, holding back the urge to punch the sad, quiet look from Klaus’ face. It didn’t belong there. 

“You _promised,”_ He growled, even though he knew to never believe in Klaus’ promises. “You _promised_ that you would get it back.”

“I did, and I tried! Really, I did. I was going to get the money to buy it back, but then I was arrested, and then dad came and bought me back and then I saw–”

Klaus froze, his face was as if someone had grabbed his neck and squeezed tight, because try as he might, his words caught up in his throat, suffocating him.

“...Klaus?” He hesitantly walked closer, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder, “...are you okay?”

“I–” He opened and closed his mouth, like the fishes he’d see in the pet shop. Whatever was happening, Klaus wouldn't coax the words out of his mouth. “It’s– he– I saw our– _tentacles.”_

Looking at Klaus’ face, you would’ve thought he’d figured out the missing link, judging by the wide, wide eyelids, holding hopeful eyes. It occured to Diego that Klaus might be too high for this conversation. “...tentacles? You see tentacles?”

He nodded frantically, face alight with so much hope, that Diego almost felt bad for what he said next, “...Okay, I think you’ve had a bit too much. How about we…” He stopped, thinking. He was about to invite Klaus back to his place, but he wasn’t stupid enough to make the same mistake twice.

Thankfully, Klaus had already decided for him. His face turned bitter, and he pushed Diego's hand off of his shoulder. “I’m not lying,” He said, and he sounded so young that it took everything he had to resist taking Klaus back home and giving him some food.

“I don’t think you’re lying.”

“I’m _not_ lying.”

He stayed silent. Klaus was probably not in the right mood to be consoled anyhow. They stood in awkward silence until Klaus took off, and Diego didn’t stop him. Before he knew it, he was lost in the crowd again.

Staring at the space where his brother once occupied, he took out his second-hand Nokia phone and painstakingly spelled out a text to Eudora that he was going to be late.

* * *

Going back to the streets was… an adjustment. This time he wasn’t alone. Well, granted, he was never alone, but this time he had a witness to all the horrible things he did to survive. With the combined force of Ben’s baby browns and his increasingly improving puppy-dog face, Klaus found himself giving in to what Ben wanted him to do more often than not, like not selling himself for money, or not eating food out of the trash, or going to the shelter because it was getting colder and colder. 

To his surprise, he survived the winter, most likely due to Ben more so than himself, and he survived the next winter. And the one after that. And the one after that after that.

Possibly one of the most painful things that came with Ben was growing up. While he was seventeen, and tall for his age, he still had much of his growth spurt to go. Ben went from being slightly smaller than him, to a few inches short, and before either of them knew it, Ben had only reached up to his nose. They didn’t talk about it. 

Despite how drastically Ben had changed his life, he couldn’t take drugs from him, no matter how much he nagged. Klaus wasn’t resigning himself to a lifetime of harassment and possible deafness for him. Interestingly enough, even when he was high as balls, Ben didn’t disappear with the other ghosts. Ben thought that it was because Klaus _wanted_ him to stay, now that he knew that Ben wasn’t like the other ghosts, didn’t want to tear him up and– 

Whatever, Klaus didn’t care, he wasn’t going to waste energy in thinking about his powers because thinking about his powers always led to thinking about–

_He stopped talking to the girl. Six minutes._

_Four minutes._

_One._

_That._ And that was never, _ever_ , happening again, so he didn’t need to think about it, or anything that had to do with his powers.

All he needed to do was get as high as he could with just weed and pills and forget that The Umbrella Academy ever existed.

And hey, at least he wasn’t alone now.

* * *

_Thirteen years later._

Klaus groaned as he stretched again, briefly soothing his poor aching back and creating satisfying _clicks_ that made Ben scrunch his face in disgust. Sleeping on the floor in some abandoned building _really_ wasn’t good for his back. Ben had been scouting for mattresses Klaus could use, but any mattresses he found always had some animals living in it, or some foul stench that Ben had missed, not being able to smell it. 

Ah well, he was sure that they would score one day. They lived in the city, there were like, _thousands_ of mattresses being thrown out everyday. In the meantime he’d have to settle for the ridiculously soft seats of the cafe Ben had found. It was small, run-down, and _very_ hidden, so it was perfect for a crazy addict and his dead brother. There was even a fun little tv, which was great for Klaus, since he could turn off his brain and not have been mithering him for entertainment. 

He cupped the hot cocoa with his palms, and tried to focus on the sounds of the night-shift guy cleaning up the leftover dishes of the day, rather than the ghosts baying for his attention. Since Ben insisted he pay for stupid things such as _food_ and _medicine,_ he didn’t have as much money to spare for drugs like he did in his youth, before his health was fucked over to hell from the years and years on the streets. Consequently, his stash was much smaller, and he ran out much more often. They were a little easier to deal with now, with more time in between him and the mausoleum, though it still made a regular appearance in his nightmares. Ben also helped, in his own misguided teenage way, talking to distract him, and awkwardly comforting him when it all became _too much_ and he couldn’t help but break down.

He tried to keep his breakdowns to a minimum. He hated letting Ben see him like that. It made him feel scared and helpless and there was nothing Klaus could do to fix it for him. 

“Whoa. Klaus.”

He wondered if the night shift guy would give him some leftover food? Some people who worked here did, but Klaus hasn’t seen this guy before. He might, given that he already let Klaus invade the privacy of the cafe at 1 am, and give him _free hot chocolate_ on top of it, when he could be closing up and going home early.

“Klaus, look!”

He should probably learn the night shift guy’s name if he wanted him to give him food. Sure, he had a name tag, but it was usually exceptionally hard to make his eyes focus on something so tiny, and he had better things to do with his life than squint around. Like getting high.

“Klaus!”

“ _Uuurgh_ ,” he threw back his head against his seat. He had a headache, and that was _solely_ Ben's fault. “ _What,_ Ben. ” He moaned, and that earned him a glance from the night shift guy, but he had long stopped caring about starers. it was better to be stared at than ignore Ben.

His brother didn’t say anything, just waved his arm through Klaus’ shoulder and pointed up at the sad little TV hanging in a corner of the shop. He looked up just in time to see that dear old daddy, the guy who raised him, the man who turned him and his siblings all into little baby soldiers, was dead. 

Well, shit.

* * *

Seeing all the others again was… hard. Especially Luther and Allison. He didn’t really have a chance to talk to them, since he ran out of the room every time one of them entered. Okay, sure, he was avoiding confrontation, and all the self help books said that was bad, but they didn’t just hurt him, they hurt _Ben_ , and things were different when it came to Ben. 

Speaking of, he was very gloomy and moody at the funeral, much more than his usual teen angst. He couldn’t blame him. Everything was changing, and if there was one thing a ghost stuck as an eternal child hated, it was change. 

Of course, seeing all the others paled in comparison to some of the other buckwild shit that happened at the funeral. Such as his brother who had been missing for the past seventeen years suddenly showing up in an explosion of blue light, looking _exactly_ how he did as a kid.

Now, wasn’t _that_ sickenly familiar.

He wasn’t actually a kid, he just looked like one, but regardless, Ben latched onto him like a baby chimp, his mood even lightening a little, enough that he joked that he was finally taller than Five.

But overall, the funeral was about as fun as a funeral could be. He avoided One and Three, made fun of Two, ignored Seven, and hugged Five for Ben until he threatened to shoot him. He also got to watch Luther and Diego fight and knock down Six’s statue which considerably lightened Ben’s somber mood, _and_ he got to be accused of murder. What more could a funeral need?

However, he must be losing his edge, because all the drama and fighting gave him a deep need to run away back to the shitty abandoned apartment for a stiff drink he’d hidden somewhere. Being in the cold and dark was better than being around all these bad memories, right?

Okay, maybe not. It was so _warm_ in here, he couldn’t believe it. There were a million things that were great about being inside an actual house for once, but the warmth sunk into his bones, heating him up from the inside out, and the thought of going back to the apartment and letting all that warmth seep out of his skin while he drank shitty beer wasn’t very appealing. 

The others didn’t seem eager to leave, either. They all milled around the house, avoiding each other and pretending that they were just in a weird antique house being sold at a weird antique show. Or at least, that was what Ben and Klaus were doing. They nervously eyed the door Pogo dragged him to the vault in years ago, and Klaus pretended that his rich alternate self was planning to turn it into a sex dungeon as they scurried into the kitchen.

Oh! There was Five. 

He had his back turned on him, looking for something in the kitchen. Someone else would think that Five hadn’t even noticed him come in, but Klaus knew better.

When they were children, Five always noticed when he snuck up on him, even with Four’s silent-as-a-ghost’s footsteps. That is, if ghosts were ever quiet in the first place. It was a weird sixth sense specific to only Klaus that he often joked it was actually Five’s real secondary powers instead of time travelling, much to Five’s irritation. He wished he’d done a harder job trying to convince him.

Still, Klaus didn’t think that even with all the years Five spent away from them, he would lose that ability. It was a part of Five, a part of their weird sibling relationship, and he knew that even under that grouchy old timetraveller mask, he was still Five.

“Heyo, Five-o! Tell me, what did you get up to in your magical years of time travel?”

Five glowered at him, “I told you. The future, which was shit.” He slammed the cupboard door open and moved on to the next one, glaring into it like an irritated cat chasing a particularly vexing mouse.

“Well, you wouldn’t have spent… however long you spent there without a good reason. The Five I know would have moved on the _second_ it started to bore him.”

Five paused in his search to look at him. Klaus couldn’t figure out if it was an angry or searching look. “Well, maybe the Five you know is dead.”

He shrugged, holding his hands out in surrender. Something in the corner caught his eyes and he laughed delightedly when he realised what it was. “Holy shit! Do you remember this? Oh, the songs we would create!” he pretended to nudge Ben, which earned him a little smile, and he fell into a seat, strumming a few cords.

He’d pretty much forgotten how to play, but he didn’t forget how much fun he, Diego and Vanya had in their silly little band. Her somber violin often clashed with Diego's preference for rock music, and Klaus liked to write songs with creepy lyrics that fit with neither of their music styles.

The music they created was horrible, but it was nice to get together and just let it rip. Sometimes he even swore that the walls shook when they played. It was fun to have something that wasn’t violence that they could share. Together, with Vanya. Including her had actually been fun, at least until dad found out and punished them all for it. 

He shook himself out of the memories of their subsequent punishments and stared sadly down at the bass. It was ruined now, tainted by the memories of terror and pain. He had to fix that.

“Hey Five? Any song requests?”

He glanced back and scoffed. “I can’t believe you still have that stupid thing.”

“You know me, I'm a nostalgic guy. I _love_ thinking about dad and his punishments, and our horrible, _horrible_ music.”

“At least you’re self aware.”

“Come on! You must have heard some cool songs from the future! Hey did we become a super popular band in the future? Is that why you stayed?”

Five pulled his head out of the pantry he was searching, solely for the purpose of staring at him as if he was stupid. Yeah, there was their Five. “It doesn’t work like that, _idiot._ And I didn’t stay because I wanted to.”

“Aw you can’t leave it at that! Were you being held hostage? Did you find a lover? Ooh, is that who Dolores is?” Ben told him to stop, but he was going too fast to stop now, Five was going to break under his needling any second now–

A loud _thud_ made him jump, and he looked over at Five, who was holding a cup onto the counter so tightly his knuckles were white. Five said his consciousness was fifty-eight, but it had never really hit how _old_ that was until now. His brother looked as if he had the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, and he was in danger of collapsing under it.

“...I couldn’t leave. My powers stopped working.”

It was said so quietly that Klaus almost didn’t hear it. Oh. Maybe he didn’t mean the future was shit because he didn’t like the fashion trends there or something. Klaus could sympathise with powers not working how you wanted them too, and so did Ben, who had momentarily stopped brooding to look at Five with wide, understanding eyes. Something in Klaus’ chest tightened, and somehow, he didn’t think that it was the rumor. 

He started to strum the bass again, and after a brief pause Five continued searching for whatever he was looking for.

They had settled into a companionable silence until Allison walked in, and he had to quickly sneak away, barely sparing a grin for her. Yeah, he usually didn’t hold grudges, too much energy, but like everything, it was different with Ben. He didn’t deserve to be faced with the constant reminder that he was stuck with Klaus for as long as the rumor held. 

But whatever, she didn’t matter. What _did_ matter was finding Diego's car, so he and ben could break into it, and wait for Diego to so kindly take them to where they needed to go.

* * *

After a brief argument, and Diego almost throwing hands with his fragile, weak, junkie brother, they were now watching his brother brood in front of open water, holding daddy’s molecule. The same one whose disappearance convinced Luther that one of them killed dad. If anyone killed him, it was _totally_ Diego.

“Hey, Ben,” He whispered, “I bet that if anyone murdered Dad, it’s Diego." No response, but the crease in Ben's eyebrows did loosen a little. Being away from Five really made his emo return in full force. “I mean, think about it! He’s got the motive, the means _and_ he’s literally holding dad’s stupid molocule right now!” Well, he used to, before he seemed to ‘accidentally’ drop it into the river. Ben glanced up just in time to see it, though, so he had no excuse.

He sighed, he’d been trying all day to cheer Ben up, or at least get a smirk out of him, but he was very determined to stick to his teenage angst routine today. Klaus was unsure if it was because he was actually _sad_ that the bastard was gone, or if being around the source of his metaphorical nightmares was enough to put Ben into his dark mood.

Coupled with his appearance, and his quiet demeanour, Klaus had to take another hit to stave off the memories of when Ben first materialized. He didn’t want to think about it. Only that he was so, so lucky that Ben turned out different than normal ghosts.

Sure, Klaus got lucky, his brother didn’t scream, or cry, or do anything that a ghost did. Technically speaking, it _was_ almost as if Ben never died, he nagged at him like usual, they were closer than ever, due to them being glued to each other’s hips. 

It was _almost_ as if he had never died. Almost. On good days, Klaus would _nearly_ forget, until he looked over at Ben, and remembered that he was almost a whole head shorter than him, and he was still covered head to toe in blood. His victims’, or his own, Klaus never knew. and if he wasn’t careful, his eyes would drift down to where the horrors' tentacles should’ve been, leaving an empty space where Ben’s guts spilled out and trailed behind him. Honestly, the worst thing about ghosts was that they would never change, were how they looked _exactly_ how they did when they died.

The car door opened, and Diego climbed in, very rudely jolting Klaus out of his thoughts, or rather not so rudely, Klaus _really_ did not like where they were going. “Diego! So nice of you to join us! We want to go… ooh, where do we want to go? I'm craving… eggs. No! No, it’s too late for eggs.” He closed his eyes in thought, ignoring Diego staring at him like he was an idiot, which, to be fair, he was. “Waffles. Huh? You like waffles?” That, at last, got a nod out of Ben. Looks like he was coming back online. “Diego, we have decided on drum roll… waffles!”

“I’m dropping you off at the bus stop. I have work to do,”

“You’re gonna make us walk back home all that way? How _despicable.”_

Diego blinked. “Home?”

“Yeah?” He grinned at the confused look on Diego's face. “Wow, it’s really unfathomable to you that I can make it, huh?” 

“You were never the most put together type.” Diego muttered. “Fine. give me the address and I'll drop you off there.”

“With pleasure.”


	8. Chapter 8

“You know, when you said you had a house, I couldn’t help but imagine a– y’know, _house_.”

“Don’t blame me for your assumptions.” Klaus muttered, carefully pulling his stolen goods out of the car. He could get a decent amount of cash for these, maybe even enough to spare for a blanket! Thank _fuck_ , it was getting so cold out. “Besides, like you can talk. Aren’t you living in a gym? That’s barely an upgrade from that motel.”

Diego scowled. “I’m not living in the gym, I'm living in the spare room. There’s a difference.”

“Eh, tomato, tomato, Solanum lycopersicum.”

“What–”

“See ya Diego! Maybe in the next seven years? Hey, maybe next time _I'll_ be living in the gym and _you’ll_ be living with some college student. Won’t that be fun?” He closed the door as Diego tried and failed to sputter out an answer and sighed.

“Do you really think it’ll be seven years till we get to see them again?” Ben's quiet voice spoke up, and Klaus almost startled. 

“Uh, not _that_ long, I was joking y'know, it’ll probably be much, _much_ sooner than that. You know that the others won’t let me go that easy.”

Ben didn’t reply, instead drifting off to the tv room, which was also their bedroom. This place had no electricity, but there was a rundown business next door, and Klaus had hacked into the meter and found a _very_ long electricity cord that kept the tiny tv running. It was the least he could do to make sure that Ben had entertainment when he was sleeping or on the now rare occasions, too high to talk. 

They had really struck gold with this shitty apartment building. There was something here that kept even the desperate junkies and homeless people away. Maybe it was the copious amount of mold on the walls, or the very large holes in the floor making most of the building inaccessible. The TV/bedroom was really the only room that could be lived in. Or maybe it was something else entirely. Klaus didn’t know, nor did he care. It wasn’t like any danger here would make him stay dead. 

He followed Ben after a few beats, and settled down next to him, sitting on the hard, splintery floor and letting all the shit he stole from dad’s home fall onto the floor. “Alright, Benny boy, let’s see what we have.”

Ben’s eyes went wide. “You _stole_ from him?! He’s gonna kill you! You have to put them back, Klaus.”

He rolled his eyes. “Ben, don’t you remember? We literally just went to his funeral.”

“You can still see ghosts.” Klaus’ mouth went dry as Ben voiced exactly what he had been spending all day refusing to think about. He couldn’t see dad again. He could _not_ live like this if dad came back to haunt him. The only reason he was trying to be at least a little bit functional– staying under a roof, only taking enough to keep the ghosts away– he was only able to do that because he had Ben. If dad came back then he didn’t know what he’d do.

He gripped the box he was holding tighter. He couldn’t think about that. If dad was really coming back, he would have shown up by now. But– Ben didn’t appear until almost a whole day after his death–

He shook his head and forced himself to focus on what he’d brought back. There were the weird as fuck nick nacks that dad had gotten from his travels, jewelry that he had never seen dad, mom, or Pogo wear, but he was certainly punished for wearing in his youth. And lastly, there was an ornate box with a pearl inlay. A box that pretty _had_ to be holding something valuable. 

“Shake it.” Ben ordered, and he did, raising his eyebrows at the low thumping noise it created. 

“Doesn’t sound like anything expensive.” he muttered, opening it up and groaning at what he found. 

Just a boring, red book, like the ones dad recorded his notes about them, but this one didn’t even have a number on it. Probably just a spare. 

“Well _that’s_ a dud.” he muttered, throwing it across the room.

“Hey! You can’t treat books like that! What if there’s something interesting in it?” 

“I’ll get you a new book tomorrow. With stuff like this, I can afford it _easy._ Name what you want, you can get it.”

“A library.”

“Anything but that. We’re still banned from there, you know.”

“ _You’re_ still banned you mean.”

“Tomato, tomato,” he shrugged, finding his boots and extra jacket. God knows he’d need it for all the shit he’d have to carry. 

_“Urgh._ Do we have to do it now? Why can’t we wait until tomorrow?”

“You know why.” Ghosts were already starting to flicker at the edges of his vision, though in a room with only a shitty little tv to light it up, they could just be shadows. Well, it never hurt to be sure. His high was wearing off anyway, and he only had a few pills left. 

“Come on, Benny-britches. We’ll go to the bookstore first so they won’t kick me out the second we walk in.”

“Fine, but you’re getting me four books.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

“Goddamnit.”

* * *

Klaus left the pawn shop fuming. ‘Not real gold’ his fucking ass! That pawn shop guy wouldn’t know what real gold would look like if it fell on top of him. 

“Well. That was a bust.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious, Benny.”

“I’m just trying to help,” he retorted unhelpfully, “Maybe if we go back to the academy, you can steal some other stuff that you can pawn.”

“You _want_ to steal? Oh Ben, I knew this day would come!”

“Shut up. Stealing’s just better than the… other stuff you do for money.” Klaus held back a sigh. He avoided selling himself, since Ben hated it so much, but sometimes it just couldn’t be avoided. Now was shaping up to be one of those times, since Klaus was _really_ betting on the shit he could pawn making him more money than it actually did. Ben was, unfortunately, right. Stealing really was the best option. 

_Urgh,_ _god_ , he did _not_ want to be back in that place again. 

But complaining about it would only get Ben pissed off and upset, though, so he threw back his head and sighed. 

“ _Fine._ Let’s get this over with.”

* * *

Walking back into the academy was just as horrible as he remembered, but at least this time he was reassured that this wasn’t some sort of trick to get him to walk into dad’s trap. Dad really was dead. 

Wasting no time in dilly dallying, he lit himself a joint and went straight towards the cases filled to the brim with all sorts of expensive billionaire shit. “Hm.” He analysed his pickings, trying to decide which looked the most expensive. “Hey, do you think that any of these are gold plated?”

Instead of being graced with Ben’s youthful voice, a monkey that had been chain smoking for the last ten years cleared his throat. 

“Christ on a cracker!” He shrieked. “Pogo?” Shit. He hadn’t seen him since the whole mess with dad. Klaus used to trust him, at least, he used to trust him to not intentionally hurt him, but even though he knew that Pogo had only been following his father’s orders, Klaus found his muscles tensing anyway, ready to run if necessary. He glanced over at Ben, who was keeping a wary eye on Pogo.

“My apologies, Master Klaus, I have a query for you.”

“Oh?”

“Items from your father’s office have gone missing, particular, an ornate box with pearl inlay.”

“Oh, no.” Ben groaned. “Couldn’t you have stolen something less conspicuous?”

“ _Oh no?”_ Klaus mockingly parroted, not that Pogo was aware. He was not going to take being talked down to by an eternal sixteen year old lying down, thank you very much. “You don’t say.”

Pogo fixed him with a look, “Any idea where it went?”

“No." He lied through his teeth, ignoring Ben's heavy stare.

“You should tell him. It might have been his instead of dad’s.”

Yeah, Klaus didn’t care. “No, no idea." In response to Pogo’s long-suffering look, he grinned. “Sorry.”

“Liar.” Retorted Ben, never one to let Klaus get away with anything,

He replied without thinking. “Drop dead.”

Ben winced and looked back down at the book Klaus bought and burned for him last night. Klaus resisted a wince too. Ben’s death was a touchy subject for both of them, even though he had been dead for… a _while_ now. Thirteen years. He hadn’t noticed it at first, but the older he got, the younger Ben seemed to act, until he realised that it wasn’t Ben, it was _him_. 

Ben never seemed to be able to move on from the developmental stages he’d died while going through. His brain development was effectively on pause, and it meant that Ben was never really able to get his head around the idea that he was dead, and he _really_ didn’t like any reminders. That was fine with Klaus, it wasn't exactly fun for him to remember Ben’s death and the shitshow of trauma that came with it. 

Oblivious of their angst, Pogo continued. “The contents of that box are… priceless. Were they to find their way back to the office, whoever took it would be absolved of any blame or consequences.”

Klaus and Ben blinked. “What?” Ben asked. “There wasn’t anything important in that book, it was just a notebook.”

“Yeah...” he murmured, and Pogo fixed him with a hard stare, probably assuming that he was high, which, well. He wasn’t wrong. Luckily he seemed satisfied with the interrogation, and left. 

“We need to go back to the apartment. We never read the book, who knows what could be in it?”

“Oh come on! Do we have to?”

“Yeah! You heard it yourself, the contents are priceless, Pogo’s probably tearing out his fur right now. And anyway, it’s something to do,”

“You do realise you’re not my moral compass?”

“I _am_ actually, and I take that job very seriously.”

He harrumphed, and quickly made to leave before he encountered anyone else who might still be lingering around, stealing a few knick knacks on the way out. They could always come back to steal shit later, and he had to admit he was also now _desperately_ curious about what was in the little notebook. Pogo usually turned a blind eye to the shit he stole, even when dad was alive, so for him to explicitly ask for something back? It must be important. 

He walked back home as quickly as an underweight junkie could walk, with Ben running ahead with his youthful (dead) energy, proclaiming that he was going to read the notebook while Klaus remained a slowpoke and missed out on the fun. 

Ben had seemed to forget that he couldn’t turn the pages without Klaus, but he had ran off before he could stop him. Ah well. It would be easy enough to distract him with the notebook. 

He happily walked at his own pace, until his shitty apartment came into view. He froze. Their door wasn’t the best door in the world. It had torn off paint, splinters everywhere and it was half torn off of it’s hinges, which made it slightly difficult to get in. Klaus liked to think that was their free defence system. 

It clearly didn’t work, because the door was ripped clean off, lying in pieces on the pavement as if it didn’t _matter._ Heart beating fast, he ran ahead, stumbling over the ruined wood and rushing into their room. 

_No._

the modest little set up he’d spent so long working on was completely destroyed. His shitty couch was in pieces. The TV was smashed, shards of glass scattered on the floor, and the drawings he’d spent so long making look good were ripped to pieces. Who the fuck would do this?

Well. pretty much everyone who lived here was the answer to that. There were plenty of assholes in the world, especially ones who would destroy their sanctuary for the sole purpose of an afternoon’s _fun,_ he bet. 

He took a shaky breath to steady himself, then looked up at Ben, who was standing in the middle of the room, eyes wide. 

“Ben?” He asked. Forget the notebook, forget everything else, Ben was upset and that took priority over everything. “Ben, are you okay?”

“It’s– it’s all–” Ben took a shuddering gasp, his hands clenched tight over his stomach. He looked so much like that day he died that Klaus’ own breaths grew tight. 

“Hey, hey, hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay, Ben. We can rebuild! It didn’t take us _that_ long to set all of this up.” But it did, it took so long and whoever came in here destroyed it like it was _nothing–_ “I bet we can steal a tv from the academy, hey! And pretty much everything else! Serves it right to dad, having all of his shit stolen–”

“It’s gone.” Ben forced out.

“Huh?”

“The notebook. It’s gone.” Klaus looked around, and realised he was right. Out of everything that was of value here, the only thing that was missing was the notebook. Huh.

“I’m sure it didn’t have anything interesting in it.” Klaus murmured, his hands awkwardly hovering where they begged to touch Ben, to comfort him like a brother was supposed to do. But he couldn’t. “Hey, I bet it was just Pogo’s diary! Can you imagine that? _Dear dairy, today nothing happened, with a touch of torturing children–”_

“This isn’t _funny._ ” Ben choked out. Somehow, Klaus had a feeling that this wasn’t only about the notebook.

“We can rebuild.” He repeated. “With dad dead, there’s nothing stopping us from stealing all the shit from the academy. Hey, maybe we can get some stuff from your old room like we planned? With Five coming back and being accused of murder and all I completely forgot!”

“Hmm.” Ben hummed, eyes blankly looking at the ruined remains of their apartment. Klaus’ heart hurt to look at it. He had genuinely started to think of it as home, even while Ben had insistently called it ‘the apartment’, in the same tone Klaus said ‘the academy.’ Ben didn’t see it as their home, but Klaus had hoped with enough time he would somehow change his mind?

It was stupid. He knew that Ben didn’t think like that. A consequence of being stuck as he was, meant that he couldn't really process any new memories. Sure, he remembered stuff, he knew that he was living in the streets with Klaus, but he still defaulted to thinking that he was just keeping Klaus out of trouble while he was on a bender, that their apartment, their _home_ was just a place he was staying to stick it to dad. He constantly forgot that he was _dead,_ for christ’s sake. It was sometimes exhausting to deal with.

He pulled himself out of his thoughts with a heavy sigh. Staying here in the midst of their ruined apartment/home wasn’t good for either of them. “C’mon Ben, let’s have a day out. I think I have enough money for breakfast.” He didn’t actually, but any excuse to get them out of here. 

Ben nodded silently, following Klaus through their ruined room out into the streets, where Klaus had to wipe his eyes and pretend to be a normal human being while Ben had the luxury of remaining how he was, blank face and dripping with blood. 

* * *

Ben brightened up the longer they walked, enough so that he was even talking a little again, enough to demand the promised breakfast. 

“Okay, I’m just gonna come out and say it. I was lying about breakfast.”

“Klaus.”

“Can you blame me? I’ve already spent a lot of shit on your precious books anyway, so I don’t know, eat those instead?”

“You _promised._ How long has it been since you’ve eaten anyway?”

“Not long at all!” He scoffed, mentally counting back and internally wincing when he realised just how long it had been. Well, that explained the pit in his stomach. 

“Is that Five?”

Klaus blinked, stopping so suddenly that a stranger had to swerve to avoid him. He ignored the person’s curses to squint at the child standing angrily in front of some sort of lab, the clothes, the posture and the attitude all pointed it to being Five. What the fuck was he doing here?

“Hawaii Five-o? What the fuck are you doing here?” Five’s head jerked up, with an expression not unlike a deranged antelope.

“Oh, _now_ you show up. I’ve been looking for you.”

Klaus put a hand to his chest. “You were looking for me?” 

“I need you to go into this place with me, and pretend to be my father.”

“...and why is that?” 

“It’s not any of your business.” He snapped. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Well,” he looked away, rubbing his arms. “Now’s _really_ not the best time. See, i just found out that someone destroyed our–my home and–”

“If you do it I’ll give you twenty dollars.”

Ben fixed him with a look. “Breakfast.”

He plastered on a smile, glaring at Ben with all the hatred in his soul. “Count me in.” He bit out. “Lemme make myself look more _dad-like_.” 

“Don’t bother. There’s nothing that will make you look more presentable. Just try to act like a normal person and let me do all the talking.”

“Okay, okay, okay. So we need a cover story.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“I mean, I'm your dad, right? How young was I when I had you? Like 16? Like young and… terribly misguided.” The idea of going through that whole mess with dad while carrying a baby Five around was equal parts horrifying and hilarious. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pursue the thought any longer.

“Sure.”

Where would he even acquire a baby Five anyway? “Your mother, that _slut._ Whoever she was, we met at the…the disco.” He chuckled along with Ben, who was desperately trying to not let him have the satisfaction of making him laugh, and failing miserably. “Oh, my god! The sex was amazing!”

“What a disturbing glimpse in that thing you call a brain.” Five muttered, walking away.

“Hey, hey! Don’t make me put you in a time out!”

* * *

His head was throbbing like a bitch, the pit in his stomach was making him woozy, but despite Five being a downer Debora, he couldn’t help but feel exponentially happy with his performance. Maybe he should’ve become the actor of the family instead of Allison.

Five, however, couldn’t just let his dear darling brother be happy. “Klaus, it doesn’t matter.”

He scoffed, turning to face him, but then paused. He looked… well, angry, as always, but there was an underlining of desperation in the tightness of his face. Whatever this was, it meant a lot to Five. Maybe it even had something to do with where he’d been for so long. “What’s the big deal with this eye anyway?”

“There is someone out there who is going to lose an eye in the next seven days. They’re gonna bring about the end of the world as we know it.” He snapped, then left before Klaus even had the time to process that. The end of the world? Did he mean that literally or metaphorically? Klaus honestly couldn’t tell which. 

Well, whatever ‘the end of the world’ was, it was no more important than their money, which Five just happened to be walking off with at the moment.

“Yeah, so can I get my twenty bucks, like, now, or what?”

“Your twenty bucks? The apocalypse is coming and all you can think about is getting high?”

That was unfair, he was _going_ to use it for ice cream! Most of it, anyhow. “Well, I _am_ quite hungry. Tummies-a-rumbling.” he imitated groaning, waggling his fingers near his belly in a crude approximation of The Horror, not that Five would know. Ben gave him an unamused look.

Five stared at him, as if struck dumb at Klaus’ stupidity, “You’re useless. You’re all useless!”

“Oh, come _on_ , you just need to lighten up, old man!” As Five walked behind him, he gave Ben a panicked look. What the hell was he supposed to say here? Ben returned the look, looking almost concerned under all that blood.

Well, with no help from Ben, he had no choice but to fall back on his tried and true method of dealing with upset siblings. Step one, cheer them up. 

“Hey, I just realised why you’re so uptight! You must be horny as hell! Right?” He laughed, sitting next to Five and nudging him, “All those years by yourself, it’s gotta screw with your head, being alone.”

“Well… I wasn't alone.” He wasn’t? That was certainly the impression he had gotten from him and the others. But then again, it wasn’t like anyone ever told him anything. 

“Oh? Pray tell.”

“Her name was Dolores,” Five nodded to himself looking off into the distance. Klaus tried to ignore how weird this was. “We were together for almost thirty years.”

“ _Thirty years?_ Oh, wow!” He chuckled. One thing that always cheered up his siblings was hearing a stupid story about himself. Laughing at Number Four was always fun. “God, the longest I've been with someone was, I don't know, a few… days?” 

He looked over at Ben, who shrugged. Klaus didn’t really make a habit of sleeping with people for shelter or drugs anymore. There was no boner killer quite as effective as knowing your dead teenage brother was in the other room judging all your life choices. Before they had found their little apartment, he found himself sucking up his pride a lot of the time to get sober enough to stay in shelters, and visit soup kitchens. He hated it, but it made Ben happy, so he guessed it wasn’t so bad. 

“To be completely honest, I barely remember anything about that guy,” he added. “I think he made some _really_ good osso bucco, it was–” he looked over at Five, or rather, where Five used to be. “Five?”

“He’s kind of an asshole isn’t he?” Ben murmured, wiping some blood out of his eyes.

“Yeah, he always was, remember? He hasn't changed a bit.”

“No, he has, he’s- he’s different. I thought that when he came back he was like me, but he’s…”

“A grown up shoved in a kid’s body.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “The old Five would’ve given us the twenty dollars. Especially cause you smashed a snowglobe over your head for it”

“Eh,” he lit a blunt and took a drag, “He clearly has bigger things to worry about, like what the hell does he mean by the apocalypse? And anyway, I ate pretty recently. Just before dad’s funeral i think? How many calories does hot chocolate have, anyway?’

Ben released a long world weary sigh, that only a sixteen year old like him could replicate. Klaus was so proud. “We’re gonna have to pawn the notebook if we ever find it, aren’t we?”

“Thatta boy Benny!”

* * *

Returning to his apartment was depressing, but they would have to go back at some point, anyway. Klaus fixed up the ruined remains of their room, pushing the couch back into its normal position, and wincing when it almost instantly fell apart. He could probably still sleep on it without too much wood and springs poking into him, right?

Ben was no help, the sight of their ruined apartment distressed him too much, so he sat on the window facing outside, reading the books that Klaus had burnt for him.

“Goddamnit! The guy should have at _least_ had the intelligence to steal our actual valuable shit.” He kicked the shit he’d stolen from dad, the satisfaction of watching his things scatter across the floor far overpowering the pain in his toe.

“I’m bored. Can we go see a movie or something? Or the ocean?”

“Shut up!” His blunt was the only thing keeping him from figuring out how to conjure Ben so he could strangle his stupid neck. “This was your idea by the way! Find whatever priceless crap was in that priceless box so that Pogo will get off my ass!”

“And so that you can eat.”

“Yeah, that too.”

There was a beat of silence, so powerful it almost suffocated him. He sighed. “Spit it out, Benny.”

“...you know, we don’t have to stay here anymore.”

“What do you mean?” He turned around to face Ben, who looked young and unsure, in such a way that it twisted at Klaus’ heart.

“I _mean_ dad’s… dead. He’s dead, and he doesn’t look like he’s coming back as a ghost anytime soon, so there’s nothing stopping us from going back home.”

Klaus scoffed. “Yeah, nothing is stopping us, right. Did you happen to forget the time that dad _killed_ me over and over? How about our whole childhood trapped there, does that ring any bells? Or maybe you want me to freshen your mind about that time you _died–”_

“Stop it!” Ben snapped. “Why are you being such an asshole? Sure, so many horrible things happen in that place, but it’s _shelter_. There’s free food there, and you can sleep in a bed without me having to worry about people coming in and kidnapping you!”

Ben was yelling at the end of his sentence, and Klaus, stupid, useless Klaus, couldn’t think of anything to say. It wasn’t rare for Ben to lose his temper, neither was it for Klaus, but sometimes Ben would say the exact right words to pierce his heart.

“I– I'm sorry. I guess.”

“You _guess?”_

“I don’t know! I guess! It’s just. It’s just _hard._ It’s so exhausting to be constantly surrounded by pretty much everything bad that’s happened to me–”

“You don’t think it’s the same for me?” Ben snapped. “I had the exact same childhood as you did. I _died_ there, Klaus. However bad it is for you, it’s bad for me.”

Klaus blinked, stunned. It was very rare for Ben to ever bring up his death, half the time he even forgot he was dead. Or at least, he acted like it. Klaus swallowed, feeling guilty all of a sudden. He took another hit. 

“ _Fine._ I'll… I’ll stay there. But only until this place gets fixed up! Or we find somewhere safer that’s _not_ home. I’m _not_ living there.”

“Fine.” Ben snapped, but Klaus could see hints of a satisfied smile there. Snarky little asshole.


	9. Chapter 9

Today… hadn’t been a good day, but in comparison to all the shit that had happened to him in his life, today was practically a walk in the palk. But still, somehow, he was left completely wiped out. Maybe he was getting old. Ew. 

Defeated, he and Ben stumbled back into the academy. The entranceway mocked him, dark and imposing. _You’ve finally come crawling back haven’t you?_ The black and white tiles sneered. _Face it, you’ll never get away from this place._

He _really_ needed a break if he was hearing voices that didn’t come from ghosts.

Well, if there was one upside to being forced to move back into this place, it was finally having access to _baths_ again. _Sweet Jesus,_ he hadn’t had one in _forever_. It was just what the doctor ordered.

He ran the water nice and hot, squeezing in shampoo until the bubbles were in danger of falling right out. Perfect. Ben was in his room enjoying his new books, and Klaus had his music ready to go. He knew he couldn’t wash the day, hell, the last _decade_ off of him, but he was going to try his damn best.

Slowly sinking into the bathwater, he couldn’t help but groan. _God,_ when did he get so many sore muscles? Oh right, probably from the year he’d spent sleeping on a ruined couch. And the years before that, sleeping rough. Who knew that being homeless was so hard on the body? At least it was better than whatever dad would’ve done to him if he didn’t escape. 

He heaved a deep sigh, shaking his head slightly to dispel the memories, but once the thought had entered, it gripped tight, worming its parasitic tendrils into his mind. He shook his head again. It didn’t _matter_ what would’ve happened if he hadn’t escaped, because he _did_. His powers worked out in his favour for the first time in his life and he should be fucking _greatful_ for that instead of dwelling on the what ifs. 

...but it wasn’t _really_ a what-if anymore, was it? He was back in this house, back living with the people who stood back as dad _killed him–_

Oh god. What _if_ dad put an ‘experiment on Number Four,’ clause in his will? What if Pogo decided to obey it? What if he was sitting here like a duck ready for shooting while Pogo set up the equipment to kill him with a grim face? Would Pogo do it? The part of him that somehow still loved his old teacher vehemently denied it, but it was drowned out by the older, world-weary part of him that was screaming _knife, guns, oh god, what about fire? How long would that take? A day? Two? Could_ _he come back from being burnt to cinders? Oh no no no no no he couldn’t, he needed to leave leave leave right now–_

Without realising it, without even taking in a gasp of air, he shoved himself underwater. With little oxygen to keep itself going for long, his lungs quickly started to burn in protest, but that was fine, he could endure that, he just needed– he lost his line of thought as his brain grew fuzzy. That was good, that was nice. That meant he couldn't think about anything but the alarm bells in his brain warning him to get air. 

He smiled past the dark spots edging at the corner of his vision. He would come up for air soon, he just wanted to– _Klaus!_ a ghost, one from the mausoleum appeared in his face, screaming his name, for his help. Dammit! He wasn’t supposed to think about this– the mausoleum was a long, distant memory and it wasn’t worth entertaining now– _Klaus, Klaus! Please help me! Please, Klaus!_ The ghost of a man with his eyes gouged out appeared behind his eyelids and he sat up, drinking in air as if he had never breathed before.

He was fine, no ghosts other than Ben, who wasn’t even in the bathroom. There were other ghosts in the academy, but they weren’t interested in him at this moment, though he could hear their distant screams. With shaking hands, he reached for his headphones sitting innocently on the windowsill, and pressed them against his ears, and closed his eyes, letting The Hollies soothe his soul. He reached for a blunt as well, to alleviate the pounding of his heart and the way his fingers shook. 

_I should be better off without you,_

He smiled, dancing sounded good, he liked dancing. He waved his hands in the air, swaying.

_You take a pride in making me blue,_

He leaned back, puffing his blunt. He shouldn’t have been thinking that sort of stuff in the bath anyway, this was supposed to be his place to _relax._ Figures he couldn’t even let himself have that.

Letting his mind drift with the music, he stayed in the bath until the hot water ran out, until he was shivering in the cold water. Forcing himself out of the bath, he danced into his bedroom, letting himself drip dry instead of putting any effort towards anything. 

Lost in the music, he didn’t hear the commotion downstairs, he didn’t hear the creak of the door as it slid open, and he barely had the time to turn around as he heard Ben's distant _“Klaus!”_ through the music before a large hand smacked against his mouth.

* * *

Consciousness returned to him in waves.

Why waves? Was he underwater? Did Ben whine enough to convince Klaus to take him to the beach?

“Klaus!”

A faraway voice, muffled almost. Was he drowning?

“Stop it! You’re going to kill him!”

There– there was water on his face, he must be drowning, he couldn’t breathe.

“Klaus, wake up! God– stop it!”

That’s right, he was in the bath, listening to his music. Ben was trying to get his attention. He had been dancing, there were hands tight around his face, binding his arms, throwing him into a dark, endless space, he was– 

He had been kidnapped.

The realisation banished any thoughts of going back to sleep, of just drowning, and he jerked back into wakefulness, sputtering water out of his face.

“Finally! That was what, three buckets?” A woman in a pink dog mask greeted him first. Something blunt hit him on the side of his head, he yelped in surprise and jerked his head up to see a man in a blue bear mask.

“Guess I must've hit him harder than I thought.”

“Don't flatter yourself.”

“Klaus! Oh my god.” Ben’s face was suddenly right in front of him, and he looked about three seconds away from a panic attack, which wasn’t dissimilar to how Klaus felt right now. “They wouldn’t stop hurting you! I tried to get them to stop but they wouldn’t listen to me, I thought you were gonna drown!” Ben cut himself off with a sob, and Klaus shushed him in a fruitless effort to calm him down, but he couldn’t properly talk to Ben with pink and blue right there.

He quickly took stock of himself. He was bound to a chair via duct tape, tightly, judging by how numb his hands and feet felt. Through the freezing water chilling his tits off, Klaus could feel some aches and pains that definitely weren't there before, which would explain why Ben was so upset. He hated seeing Klaus get hurt.

“Okay,” Pink spoke up, “I'm gonna explain this to you nice and slow. You have information that we want, and we can either get it the hard way, or the easy way.” She pulled out a knife, and wielded it menacingly, as if that would scare Klaus. “We know who you and your family are, so don’t bother trying to tell us that you don’t know who Number Five is.”

Ah, Number Five. Of _course_ he was the one they wanted him for, Klaus wouldn’t expect any less of him. Unfortunately, ever since Five had come back, they didn’t seem to click as well as they did when they were children. Klaus knew that he probably wasn’t on Five’s list of trusted siblings anymore, despite how much he joked of the contrary. Klaus didn’t know jackshit about Five, which was very good as he wasn’t planning on telling them jackshit.

He glanced over at Ben, who by the looks of it, already knew that Klaus wasn’t planning on cooperating. He was shaking his head like mad, but Klaus ignored him in favour of nodding at pink.

She carefully pressed the knife against Klaus’ neck, pointing it just so that Klaus felt warmth well up from under the point and dripped lazily down his neck. “Now, I'm gonna take this tape off your mouth, so don’t bother trying to scream, you know we’re not messing around.” The tape pulled painfully at his goatee before being tossed to the side. Blue pointed a gun at him.

“Talk.”

“Five is– he’s–” Klaus stammered, struggling to swallow down the mothball that accumulated in his _very_ dry mouth. How long had he been out? “I haven’t seen him in the past few days. I don’t even know where he is.” Just vague enough to keep them interested, without actually telling them anything. Blue picked up a piece of rope.

This was gonna be a long day.

* * *

They put him in front of the TV, supposedly another one of their torture methods, but really just an excuse for them to try and think up a method of torture that didn’t run into his seemingly endless kinks. Klaus had never been happier for his past self’s foresight in teaching himself to get it up even when there wasn’t anything remotely sexy about the situation.

He _couldn’t_ zone out, not when he was in the middle of being tortured, so he had nothing to do but sit and stew in his own thoughts. His least favourite hobby. God, the _one_ time he tried to relax and enjoy some time in a house and just zone out in a nice, hot bath for several hours and he got kidnapped. Typical. According to Ben, they had him for about ten hours, but Ben wasn't exactly a reliable source of information right now, so they could have had him for longer. 

He’d managed to hold out for however long they had him, but judging by the way his muscles were starting to shake, and the headache starting to steadily pound in between his ears, it wouldn’t be long until _they_ appeared. And Klaus knew all too well how quickly his resolve crumbled just to get _away from them_.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when his kidnappers suddenly stormed over. Blue got too close and he flinched in anticipation of a wide hand crashing into his skull, but nothing happened. Against his will, his muscles loosened slightly.

Until pink picked up his coat.

“Hey, hey, wait.” He choked past the growing lump in his throat, watching pink dig through what was left in his pockets, “What are you doing?”

Klaus’ heart jumped into his throat as she grabbed handfuls of his stuff and after a quick inspection, threw them to the side. A jumble of shit he’d stolen from dad, a few loose pills, and weed decorated the motel floor. He didn’t have much, because Ben was a bitch and needled him into spending his money on useless shit like _food_ , so when pink picked up his hard earned baggie of weed, his heart clenched. “Hey, that’s my stuff. That’s my personal stuff.”

“Now, we’re getting somewhere.” Blue grabbed the baggie from pink and Klaus watched with bated breath as the man walked over to the sink. 

He turned on the garbage disposal. “Hey, hey, hey, no!” He jerked against his restraints, the duct tape cutting into his skin. “What are you doing, that’s mine!” he screamed as blue dropped the baggie into the garbage disposal, robbing him of protection from the ghosts. 

If Luther was here, he’d smack Klaus up the head for letting his weaknesses be known so easily, but he _needed_ drugs. They were his only relief from the walking corpses that plagued his every moment and pink and blue were just throwing it away like it was _nothing._

“You want more?” Pink dog lady asked and stomped hard on his emergency supply pills, crushing them into dust.

“No! No! No!" He shrieked, jumping up and down in his chair. He was focusing too hard on convincing himself that he was _not_ actually upset that he almost missed Ben’s shocked laugh. Confused, he looked up, and saw that they were eating the last few blocks of his _special_ chocolate. He held back a grin as Ben fell apart giggling.

“Do they-” He gasped. Why did he do that when he didn’t need to breathe? “Do they _know?”_

Klaus risked a quick grin. “Not until they're high as kites.” Which set off another round of giggles from Ben. Man, he was on a roll today. 

The brief pride he felt from making Ben laugh was quickly ruined when he noticed that an old lady's ghost was in the room, and she was no flicker of shadows in the corner of his eye. She was mumbling quietly in russian, but her voice was already rising in volume. Added with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to instantly get rid of her and the other ghosts who would inevitably come when they realised that Klaus was sober, the idea of talking was looking more and more appealing.

“Klaus. It’s okay.” The underlining of uncertainty in Ben’s voice rendered the reassurance void, but Klaus gave him a grateful nod anyway. 

Pink wiggled the last baggie in front of his face, and Klaus unsuccessfully reasoned the sudden burst of _need_ away, “This could be all yours for the low low price of telling us everything.” 

Actually… maybe he _could_ tell them something.

“Oh… okay, _fine.”_ He gasped out a sob in the resulting silence, who said he wasn’t a good actor? “I dont know where Five is, I wasn’t lying about that, but I _can_ tell you that he’s–hasn’t hasn't been making much sense since he came back.”

“Elaborate”

“He’s just– he’s been acting like a-a-a lunatic. He’s been sitting in his van in front of a-a lab or something, and looking for the owner of an eyeball. One of those fake ones, or something.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Hold on, just hold on,” Pink interjected. “Tell us more about this eye, and why is it so important?”

“He, he said it had something to do with the end of times or something.” Blue and pink looked at each other. Bingo.

“Klaus!” Ben hissed. “Why did you tell them that? You know they won’t give you your drugs!”

Klaus burst into cackles, letting his head loll onto his shoulders. Was it just him, or was the world remarkably blurry? He hoped that he was just hallucinating the darkened bodies slowly multiplying in the motel room. 

They were going to get _pretty_ high soon, so that meant they wouldn’t really pose a threat to Five. He had faith that the little gremlin could fight two high assassins off on his own, if they were to encounter him. Klaus needed them out of the motel room so that he could freely strategize with Ben on how to escape, and then hopefully put the plan into motion. 

It would be fine. He had a plan, he just needed to survive this.


	10. Chapter 10

He closed his eyes, breathing harshly through his nose to stave off another bout of memories. He needed to stay calm, because Ben hated seeing him upset, it made _him_ upset, which made Klaus _more_ upset. He needed to calm down, he needed to think about literally _anything_ else but where he was now. He needed to figure out some way out of this closet, he needed–

There was… a hoover? A cleaning lady!

“Klaus! She could help you!” 

He screamed as best as he could through the gag, but the lady’s hoovering didn’t stop, nor did her footsteps come closer. 

“She won't be able to hear you over her hoover.” Ben shuffled closer to him, as if he was scheming a master plan with Klaus. “I'll go outside and get her attention.” He left before Klaus could tell him what an astoundingly bad idea that was, though it would’ve been a pretty futile effort with the tape sealing his mouth shut. While Ben had problems coming to terms with the fact he was dead, despite how long it had been, he also had a tendency to outright forget he was ever dead in the first place. Forgetting himself and trying to talk to one of his siblings, or having a stranger walk right through him had always left him small and quiet, refusing to leave Klaus’ side for the next few days. 

Even while he had to walk through the closet doors to get to the cleaning lady, this was looking to be one of those times.

He let his head drop down to his chest with a sigh, helplessly listening to Ben’s increasingly frustrated voice trying to get the cleaning lady’s attention, before going quiet, remembering.

He came back in without a word, and for once, Klaus was grateful that the closet was dark, because even while it meant he had to shove away the steadily growing panic underneath him, it also meant that he didn’t have to see the blood perpetually dripping off Ben’s face. Klaus hated it when Ben went quiet, it was too much like when he first appeared. 

He had resigned himself to an evening of silence, or at least until his kidnappers’ high wore off, until out of the blue, Ben spoke. “You know what the worst part of being dead is?”

Silence. Ben was waiting for an answer. Klaus shook his head. 

“You’re stuck. You can’t move forward, you can’t move on. That’s the real torture, you know,” Ben’s voice broke and somehow Klaus didn’t think Ben’s ghostly purberty had finally arrived. He looked over his shoulder at him best he could. Despite being dead, he still somehow cried, the constant blood on his cheeks was briefly washed away with his tears, and even in the dim light, he could still make out the shine where his tear tracks were. Ben took a shuddering breath, probably more to calm himself than out of any necessity, and continued. “Watching the others– _you,_ Klaus, grow up while you’re stuck– like, like _this._ And you’re not exactly helping either. You had the chance to grow up, you have everything that was taken from me, and you’re pissing it all away.”

Klaus blanched, stunned. Ben rarely brought up his less than savoury lifestyle, and though he didn’t approve, he _understood,_ he was just as thankful as Klaus was when he smoked the ghosts away, and Klaus deliberately stayed away from the harder stuff for Ben. It had hurt, growing taller and taller, while Ben was left behind, and he knew, logically, that Ben felt the same way. 

But to hear it was a whole other bag of worms. Ben was looking at Klaus as if he _failed_ him and he _did_. Klaus was the lookout, and however boring that job was, it meant that he had the responsibility to keep Ben, keep his family alive, and he failed, he killed his brother. The least he could do was make sure that Ben had a comfortable afterlife, or at least help him move on to wherever ghosts went to when they died, but he didn’t.

Because he was selfish and he couldn’t be alone, even if that meant dragging Ben down with him.

He hung his head and sobbed.

* * *

It had been a few hours, blue and pink had already come back, and Ben’s sudden confession meant they didn’t talk for the rest of the evening. Klaus was starting to become resigned to the fact that he might not escape. No one was going to come for him, that he knew very well, but there was the... _other_ side of his powers to consider. Thanks to dear old daddy he knew for a fact that he could come back to life from knives and guns, and poison. What was bound to happen was they would try and kill him, and he would come back. And they would come up with more and more creative ways to kill him until they finally found out what he couldn’t come back from.

Decapitation, probably. Or maybe they would burn him into cinder. He was pretty sure he couldn’t come back from _that._

Ben knew what he was thinking. You don’t spend thirteen years with someone without becoming intimately aware of their thinking patterns. Klaus knew that Ben was planning to try and comfort him, with wild impossible fantasies about his siblings storming in and rescuing him.

“Don’t worry,” Ben delivered, “Even if Five’s too busy to come, someone else will, we just have to hold on.”

“Do you really think that?” He mumbled, quiet enough that he hoped Ben didn’t hear him over the ghosts mulling around the room, wondering why they were suddenly pulled here. It was only a matter of time before they realised that Ben was a ghost, and was talking to an actual living person. “Out of all the times I've asked them for help, why should this one be any different?”

Ben paused, looking down and scuffing his foot against the floor, “I don't know,” he eventually murmured “Wishful thinking, I guess.” 

Klaus knew that wasn’t the case. In Ben's head they were all the same people they were when he died. Klaus was just on an extra long druggie stint, and he would return home soon enough. Diego was still that protective, stuttering kid, Allison’s powers didn’t have any real consequences. They were all the same people they were when Ben died, so they still cared about each other. Why wouldn’t they come for Klaus? That was probably why Ben was so quiet when Reginald died, he supposed. Just another marker of the world moving on without him.

He bit back a sob as the russian lady started yelling, honestly, he was kind of starting to hope that pink and blue would kill him, if only so he could get away from the inevitable once they realized.

“Hey,” that was Ben’s I Just Had An Idea voice, and Klaus had a feeling that he wouldn’t like it, whatever it was, “Klaus, look at her.”

“I’m trying _not_ to do that.”

“Seriously, look at how she’s looking at them." He was already rousing enough suspicion by talking to Ben, so instead of asking what the hell Ben was talking about, he slowly inched his eyes up to her face. The hole in her brain grossed him out less than it should’ve, but when you have the corpse of your brother following you around, you become desensitised to things like that. “Look at how she’s looking at them,” Ben continued “She’s one of their victims.”

He shuddered. He did _not_ want to do what Ben wanted him to do, and usually that was enough to get him to back off, but Ben seemed to feel especially brave today. “Talk to her. Use your powers. We can use it against them.”

“It won’t work,” He whispered, “I can't just freak them into letting me go, all it’ll do is make things worse for me.”

“You don’t know that!” he hissed, ”Klaus, you haven't been this sober in _years_ , now’s our chance,” Klaus stared at him, “... Please, Klaus.”

How could he say no to that? Shuddering, desperately trying not to think about how awful everything was about to get in a few minutes, he leaned over and greeted her. 

“H-hi, what’s, what’s your name?”

“Zoya Popolva,” The ghost sobbed, and it was as if a stage light had been lit over his head. He could feel the weight of the ghost’s eyes turning on him as they slowly processed that he was alive, and talking to _them_. 

He swallowed thickly and continued, “O-oh? That’s a lovely name, uh, any chance you’d tell me what happened?” He gestured to the place her blown out brains were with his shoulder. There was a voice in the background, pink must've said something, but it didn’t matter because Zoya was speaking, telling him all about the way she ran, she begged, she didn’t know _why_ they were doing this, she _didn’t_ do anything _wrong_. 

Pink did not take kindly to being ignored, “Hey, do you hear me? I said I’m going to cut your tongue out with a grapefruit spoon!” She marched over and yanked his head up by his hair. He chuckled. Taking off their masks might mean that they weren't planning to let him go, but it worked to his advantage at this moment, because it meant that he could make the weirdly intense eye contact that never failed to unsettle people. He and his sibling’s powers had always had strange effects on their biology, Diego straight up didn’t need to breathe, Five had always had this air of impermanence to him, like he wasn’t quite there. Even people who had never met them could just instinctively tell that there was something _wrong_ with them. 

The little things that humans all subconsciously noted of each other, that confirmed each other to be alive and human, were just absent from the Hargreeves. The ‘alive’ part especially for Klaus. All living things spend their lives running from death, and Number Four had no choice but to live in it. 

Which was why when pink grabbed his hair and he rolled his eyes up to stare at her, he saw her barely flinch. Just a flicker of the eyes, but he knew he had her. “Zoya Popolva,” He murmured, instead of responding to the threat.

She visibly started, turning to look at blue. He pushed on in an effort to ignore the ghosts that were steadily turning towards him, one or two starting to call out his name, “Old russian, broad, short, with a limp.” He couldn’t help but smile as recognition dawned on their faces. “Oh, she’s really pissed at you guys. I can’t blame her.”

She let go of him like she’d been burned. He let his head fall on his chest, and caught sight of Ben grinning at him… proudly? That was new.

He had no time to stew in his victory, though, because in a matter of moments, the ghosts crowded him, surrounding him, and all he could do was just bear it. Even in the mausoleum he had the option of knocking himself unconscious. One screamed into his ear, waggling mutilated dangling flesh at the ends of his wrists in front of his face. Another cried about how horrible it was, to suffocate under her own pillow, to not even be allowed to pray. They were all talking over each other, desperately grabbing at their one chance of being acknowledged, of getting their revenge, and he could only catch a few stories at a time.

They were all obviously people pink and blue had killed– wait no, Hazel and Cha Cha. They were people Hazel and Cha Cha killed without remorse, and soon he might become one of them.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, everybody just– everybody just shut up, please shut up.” He groaned. Why the hell did he let Ben talk him into this? “Jesus, you guys are worse than the drugs.” He mumbled, idly listening to a man talk about being run over. Forward reverse, forward, reverse, forward, reverse. 

“Forward, reverse,” He mumbled, not even sure why he was latching onto that sentence, its repetitiveness was somehow comforting in this whole mess, distracting him from the horrified moans and cries from the ghosts surrounding him. A hand grabbed his shoulder, roughly spinning him around to face the assassins. 

God, they were so noisy, he could barely hear himself think. Why was he doing this again? Oh yeah, to freak them out, which somehow, in Ben’s little mind, would aid in his escape. “Which one are you? Cha cha or Hazel?”

“Hazel." The man answered. 

He nodded thoughtfully, as if the dead weren’t screaming his ears off. Some of them did seem to be quieting down, though. Maybe some of them were sane enough to realise that he was helping them. “Jan Mueller. Remember him? He was in Swiss Alps. Him and his wife were coming back from a skiing trip.”

Hazel stared down at him, looking quietly defeated. Like he knew what Klaus’ powers were, and he couldn’t do anything to stop what he was about to reveal. Klaus would feel sympathetic if Hazel wasn’t such a grade A asshole. “I remember,” Cha Cha suddenly spoke up. “Forward. Reverse!”

“Yeah!" He laughed, “Yeah, that’s it! And his wife… escaped down an alleyway.” He locked eyes with Hazel and smiled. “He wants me to say thank you.” Letting someone escape had to be frowned upon in the assassin community, he should know, and judging by the way Cha Cha looked at Hazel, he was right.

“What the hell is he talking about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, I think you do.” He wasn’t about to let Hazel wriggle his way out of this one. Distantly, he noted that the ghosts were almost completely silent, staring at him with a vague look of reverence. “He was so grateful to you, Hazel, for having spared his wife.”

Ben stepped closer, finally feeling safe enough with the other ghosts to interact with him, Klaus looked up at him. “You know, there may be hope for him yet, don’t you think?”

Cha cha pressed her lips together, and he knew he had her. “Bathroom. Now!” 

For the first time in his life, the ghosts were completely silent as they watched Hazel and cha cha leave the motel bedroom. Ben smiled at him. “Nicely done.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, closing his eyes as he listened to the ghost’s whispers increase volume after the shock of what happened slowly wore off.

“This is going to work, we’re gonna get out of here.”

“Whatever you say, Benny.” He mumbled, turning his head over his shoulder to look at the curtains. Daylight was starting to peek through, either that or a really big advertisement had just been turned on, but Klaus was willing to bet that either way, there were people in earshot.

Just as he drew in a breath to call for help, Cha Cha walked in. She instantly caught on to what he was doing. “No, we’re not having that.” He struggled vainly as she bit off some tape and pasted it against his mouth, swiftly leaving the room again, as if taking away Klaus’ only chance at freedom was just a mundane routine. And considering that she was an assassin, it probably was.

Wait. Shit, no! His feet were untied! And he was unsupervised and not locked in the closet! This was his only chance. His feet scrambled widely at the rough carpet floor, desperately trying to get enough traction to move himself over to the table. “What are you doing?” Ben asked. “Klaus, what are you trying to do?” But he couldn’t answer, he needed to get to the table, maybe there would be something on it that would help him? He didn’t know, he just knew he needed to get to the table, closer to freedom.

A quick glance at the table told him that there was nothing on it that could help, unless motel cards could levitate in the air and cut through duct tape in times of need. He groaned desperately, letting his head thump against the table. “Klaus. Klaus, look! There’s someone coming!” He looked up just in time to see the silhouette of a woman pass the motel window.

“ _Help!”_ He screamed, the god-forsaken duct tape muffling his voice into something too quiet to hear, but it was all he had. “ _Help me, please!”_ He sobbed. The woman had already moved on, he needed to make a louder noise, he needed–

Before he realised it, his body had started banging his head against the table, and a small part of him screamed at him to _shut up! He was going to alert his kidnappers!_ But he needed help, he needed someone to come rescue him–

He was suddenly tilted back, being dragged away from the table, “No, no no nO NO NO!” He screamed, muffled through the gag. A hand with sharp nails plugged his nose, effectively cutting off any sounds he could make. Cha Cha. 

The woman came back, facing the motel window, there was a tense moment between living and dead alike– as they waited to see what the women would do. She left. 

Cha Cha let go of his nose, but not before hitting him harshly with the handle of her gun. He didn’t care, he was too busy mourning the loss of another opportunity to escape–and possibly his _last_ opportunity to escape.

“I can’t believe this–did you see that? She nearly had us! Because _he_ ,” She gripped his hair painfully and yanked his head back, as far as it could go. “Decided to pull that little stunt.” 

“Should we kill him?”

“No!” Ben yelled, as she tapped the gun against his face in deliberation. Klaus squeezed his eyes shut.

“Maybe he wasn’t lying when he said that no one was gonna come for him. Maybe Five really doesn't care.” He knew all of this already, but to hear someone else come to the same conclusion hurt more than he thought it would. He squeezed his eyes tighter together, this time to stop the tears from falling, rather than any type of denial. 

“Actually,” The gun left his face, and he opened his eyes long enough to see the gun being held out to Hazel. “You kill him.” 

“Why?”

“To show that we’re in this together. For the long haul.” That was clearly a whole other conversation that he missed, and he would almost find it sweet if not for the fact that Hazel slowly took the gun and clicked the safety off.

He nodded at her, ”For the long haul.” And Klaus barely had enough time to hear Ben scream, “Don't!–” before the gun fired.

* * *

_There was the girl, standing among flowers in grey._

_She regarded him with an air of disinterest, but he didn’t care. She was such a horrible reminder of all those times dad killed him, he couldn’t look at her without his chest seizing._

_“Don’t blame you,” She muttered, and suddenly he was falling, falling, back into the land of the living._

* * *

Whenever he died, consciousness usually came to him slowly. First his heart would start beating, and then he would start to breathe, or was it the other way around? Then, slowly, like city blocks coming back to life after a power outage, he would regain feeling in his limbs. The first thing that usually took up his attention was the _pain,_ which changed depending on how he died. Usually a persistent dull throb, but if he came back faster, it would be sharp, piercing, and unbearable. He liked it when he came back slowly, even if it meant having to comfort an increasingly hysterical Ben who had worked himself up imagining scenarios where he just _didn’t come back this time._

He didn’t know if it was the situation he was in, some weird metabolism thing going on in his body, but this time, everything turned on at once, and he gasped under the onslaught of the _worst_ headache he’d ever experienced, _Jesus Christ on a cheese cracker._

“What the hell?”

Oh, right, the guy shot him, and was probably disposing of his body right now. If there was anything being a child soldier for sixteen years taught him, it was that the best time to strike was when his opponent was taken off guard. He threw his head back, creating a satisfying _crush_ as he crushed his kidnapper’s nose, and he grunted when the man dropped him in surprise. 

Coming back to life as quick as he did had its downsides, however. The bullet must have hit some part of his brain responsible for his eyesight, because the world was currently a beautiful blur of threatening dark shapes looking to kill him.

“Klaus, watch out!” A blurry object that looked vaguely like his deceased brother called out, and he rolled onto his back as a large foot stomped down hard enough to break the floorboards, right where his head used to be.

“What– how are you alive?” The man– Hazel, he belatedly remembered– yelled. Before Klaus had the chance to answer, the gun was pointed at his face. Without thinking he grabbed the hand holding the gun, pushing up to the ceiling as it fired. Plaster fell on their heads as they wrestled for control. Despite years of being a starved junkie, he knew some fighting tactics to get himself out of trouble, and he wasn’t afraid of fighting dirty. 

“Kick him in the balls!”

Magnificent idea. Pressed up close to Hazel, he was in the perfect position to do just that. 

While he didn’t have the funny squeaking reaction that other people had, his muscles did momentarily stiffen in surprise, letting even a weak person like him easily throw Hazel to the ground.

All it took was a conveniently placed lamp smashed over his temple to knock him out, and he was left to stand there, holding the shattered remains of the lamp in stunned victory. 

His eyes were a lot better now, good enough that he could see how his fingers trembled against the ceramic while Ben crowed in the background.

“Yes! Yes! You did it, Klaus! You actually beat him!” Ben yelled, grinning like mad, trying to give Klaus a hug and falling through him, making him shudder. This for once, didn’t dampen either of their moods, and once Klaus regained his breath enough, he even found himself chuckling. Wow, he– he did it. He’d practically escaped. Man, he forgot how satisfying it was to knock out a man two times bigger than him.

A thump on the motel door quickly drained the hesitantly victorious atmosphere of the room, replacing it with dread.

“Hazel? You still in there? I forgot the keys, open up!” Cha Cha yelled.

“Shit. We need to get out.”

“Yeah, no shit,” He mumbled, frantically searching his surroundings for any escape. They were still in the motel room. Hazel probably had only enough time to untie him from the chair and drag him towards the window to dispose of his body before Klaus came back to life. 

His eyes were still hindering him greatly as he frantically scanned the hotel room for an escape, anything he could defend himself with. 

“Hazel! What are you doing? Open the door!” She cried, wrestling with the door handle. He only had a minute or so, if he was lucky. 

“Look! There's a vent you can climb through, come on!” Making a brief detour for his jacket, he launched himself at the grate Ben was standing next to, fully expecting to have to resort to using his nails as screwdrivers when the grate easily pulled out of the wall. Well, he wasn’t about to question why. He threw it aside, and paused in surprise when he encountered a strange metal briefcase. Who the hell would put a briefcase in a vent?

A loud _thump_ shook the walls, and he looked behind him to see the silhouette of Cha Cha throwing herself at the door through the curtains. He froze, like a deer in headlights as another _thump_ resounded the little room and the door practically bent under the force she was exacting on it, and all Klaus could do was sit there, staring in horror as he watched her step back again, readying herself for another go.

“Klaus, what are you waiting for? Go!”

Ben snapped him out of his trance, and he scrambled inside the vent, pushing the briefcase ahead of him. Ignoring the distant _crash,_ and a woman shouting behind him, he kept crawling until he encountered another vent. Thankfully, also unscrewed. Whoever was keeping this place was doing a shitty, shitty job, but it worked out in Klaus’ favour, so he wasn’t about to complain.

He landed on the ground with a painful _thump_ that spread from his feet to all over his body, but he couldn’t give himself a break, he needed to run, he needed to get as far away from this motel and the crazy woman as fast as he could. He ran with no destination in mind, just as far from the motel as he could, and in a stroke of luck a bus came into view, waiting for long enough for him to get on.

The bus driver took one look at him before she sighed. “Let me guess, you don’t have any money.” He looked down at himself, only just realising how a blood drenched towel duct-taped to his hips and the countless injuries decorating his body might look to normal people. He shrugged helplessly. She rolled her eyes. “Just get on the bus.”

“Thank you,” He croaked out, gratefully climbing on. He barely noticed her irritated dismissal, instead flopping into the first seat that wasn’t occupied. A lady sitting across from him smiled and he tiredly pulled his lips back in return. It took him a few minutes of panting and desperately checking the window for anyone chasing him, but eventually, he calmed down enough to remember the briefcase he’d unintentionally stolen.

He wondered if it used to belong to his kidnappers, but it was just as likely that someone who booked the motel room before them had put it in the vents and forgot about it.

“Did you steal that?” Ben asked, nosily looking over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, I stole it. I don’t know if it’s theirs, but if it is, I figure that it’s karma.”

“What, kill you, get their stuff stolen? That doesn’t sound fair.”

“I’m sure the universe will reimburse me later.” He mumbled, turning the thing around in his hands, looking for a latch or something. It didn’t sound like there was anything in it, but hey, you never know. After a few more seconds of looking he spotted a lock combination.

2-0-1-9

“Huh, that’s weird.” Ben tilted his head. Klaus shrugged and tried to open the latch. Locked.

“Try 0-0-0-0,”

He looked at Ben, “why?”

“That’s usually a default combination that they put on locks like these, maybe whoever had it didn’t change it.”

Ben had a point, but Klaus didn’t feel like listening to Ben right now. He played with the numbers, enjoying the clicking sound they made when the little wheel rolled over to a new number. 

“Come onnn, do my idea, I wanna see if it’ll work.”

Klaus glared at him, leaving the combination lock onto a random number and trying the latch.

_Click._

He gasped, and looked over at Ben, shit eating grin already spreading over his face. After such a shitty, shitty, couple of days, this stupid victory was exactly what the doctor ordered. 

Grinning madly at Ben's pouty face, he quickly checked the combination lock so that he could reuse it if he decided to not to pawn the briefcase. Maybe he could use it to stash drugs or something.

1-9-6-8

His brain ran wild, inventing wild fantasies about what could be in the briefcase- millions of dollars stacked up into seperate little notes like they did in the movies? Gold bricks? Obama? He excitedly lifted the lid.

And disappeared in a flash of blue light.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dave's here! tho since it is the 60's watch out for homophobic slurs 😔

Dave was having a less than a perfect day. In between being rudely jolted awake by some sort of blue electricity that had spontaneously appeared, –which was _definitely_ a hallucination, he knew he shouldn’t have eaten those dodgy biscuits– he ended up having to look after the resulting man who had fallen out of it. Not that he was _completely_ upset about that, because the man was _very_ beautiful, but he was allowed to be a little bitter about it for a while.

The man seemed to have no idea where he was, or even what was happening. While he shakily got dressed in the clothes Dave threw at him and followed any orders that were given to him, it was clear that he wasn’t all there. He shook like he’d gone black on grass and he constantly glanced around his surroundings as if he was looking for someone, quietly saying ‘Ben?’ like a lost child every once in a while.

Katz felt bad for him. Judging by the blood on him, his ‘clothes’ when he arrived and the injuries that had obviously come from being tortured, it was easy to arrive to the conclusion that this man was a prisoner of war. Probably why the captain decided to let him stay. Unless the enemy had a secret strategy of getting a possibly deranged, mentally unstable man and torturing him a little before sending him off to spy on them, they were safe. Just one more body to lose to the war.

Still, the man needed a friend, and Dave thought that he might be a pretty good one, so he pushed past the other soldiers on the bus until he was sitting near the man enough to talk.

“Hey, you just get in the country?”

“U-uh,” The man stuttered, looking at him as if he couldn’t believe a real live human was interacting with him. Once again, Dave worried for the man’s mental presence. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Yeah, shit’s crazy, I know. You’ll adjust.” He smiled at him, and found himself appreciating how beautiful his eyes were, all green with brown flecks in them, like the forest that was rapidly moving outside the bus. The man didn’t seem to mind the eye contact, and that was what convinced Dave to hold out his hand and introduce himself with his first name. And hey, people like Klaus were worth getting attached to, right?

* * *

 _Klaus was gone. Klaus was_ gone. 

_Ben stared numbly at the spot Klaus once occupied, mouth gaped open. If mom was here she would tell him to close it before a fly flew in. That is, if mom could see him._

_“Klaus?” He asked the air, voice lost and scared. Ben would feel more annoyed by that if his voice didn’t so perfectly reflect how he felt. Maybe Klaus had just somehow teleported? The flash of blue light did look a lot like Five’s powers. He stood up and searched the bus, eyes flicking to Klaus’ old seat as if he would reappear at any moment. Someone, a random person who didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, stepped onto the bus and sat in Klaus’ seat. Pulling out his phone as if he hadn’t just committed a grievous offence._

_“Hey.” He called out. The man didn’t look at him. “Hey, that’s my brothers’ seat. You can’t sit there.” He scrolled through his phone, uncaring. Ben clenched his jaw. “I mean it, Klaus will be coming back soon.” The man was scrolling through twitter, and that was the last straw._

_“Goddamnit! Stop looking at your stupid phone!” He yelled, snatching his hand out to grab the phone out of his hands– but it went through, and the man’s only response was to shudder. It was as if the only thing that was happening to the man was a particularly cold gust of wind, instead of a pissed off ghost. Because that was what he was. A ghost. He was dead._

_He let out a shaky breath, turning away. God, he was so stupid, he had been dead for nearly thirteen years, how hard could it be to remember that? He was literally reminded a few hours ago, when he had tried to talk to the cleaning lady to ask for help. Frustrated, he wiped the blood dripping into his eyes, getting off of the bus as soon as it stopped. Usually when something like this happened, Klaus took his mind off it, like he always did. He couldn’t do it in the motel because his mouth was taped shut, and all of Ben’s rage and helplessness and fear rose up until it boiled over, burning Klaus with his words because he was the only person who could see him, who would care._

_Ben bitterly regretted it, and the thought that he might never be able to apologise made panic twist so sharply in his stomach, it was almost like the Horror was inside him all over again. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and grimaced. No, he needed to concentrate, he needed to find Klaus so he could apologise and Klaus would make him feel better and everything would go back to normal._

_He just needed to find Klaus._

* * *

Klaus had no idea where the fuck he was. 

His only saving grace was Dave, sweet, wonderful, beautiful Dave, who had basically been looking after him for… a week? A few months? Did it even matter? No it didn’t, the only thing that mattered was fixing the briefcase so that he could get back to Ben.

He didn’t know what happened, maybe he just… landed on it wrong. All he knew was when he turned the numbers to 2-0-1-9 it wouldn’t open. It just wouldn’t. He tried everything from knives and small explosives, but the damn thing remains locked up tight, mocking him. 

Sometimes he would sit in his cot and stare at the briefcase, as if through the power of staring, he could make it return him back to Ben. The first night he did this, Dave sleepily stayed up with him. 

“What are you doing?” He had asked.

“Nothing, I just… I can't sleep.”

Dave had nodded as if he understood, as if he believed what Klaus was saying. That was another thing Klaus liked about Dave. He could see right through his bullshit almost effortlessly, but almost never called him out unless he had to. Klaus didn’t even know a person like that existed. 

That night Dave stayed up with him, but went to bed once it became too late.

That was their routine for a while, back when Klaus stared at the briefcase every night. Now, he only did it on the bad days. Whenever he lost someone in his squad. Or when he had to take a bullet for someone, and he was bleeding to death, and it reminded him so much of Dad and he _just wanted Ben–_

He stayed up with the briefcase those nights, and Dave stayed up with him, watching him fiddle with the briefcase, trying to make it open. One night, Dave asked the questions Klaus knew had been eating at him ever since he found Klaus staring at a briefcase the first night.

“What’s in it?” He’d asked, gesturing to the briefcase innocently sitting in front of them.

“Uh, it’s...something important. I just can’t figure out how to open it.”

“Don’t you know the combination code?”

Klaus huffed out something that might be mistaken for a laugh. “Yeah, I tried. It still won’t open.”

There was a beat of silence, as Dave thought about how stupid and irrational Klaus was, and how to tell him that maybe they shouldn’t be friends anymore, that Klaus was just… too much. There was a reason he didn’t have any friends. Instead of saying that, however, Dave somehow managed to say something even worse.

“Well… did you know that they usually put a base code of 0-0-0-0 on these things? Maybe you could try that, if you haven't already, and see if– Klaus? Klaus are you crying?”

He buried his hands in his face, hiding from the world as Dave fretted and apologized. Klaus thought that was the only moment he truly _hated_ him.

Eventually, he stopped carrying the briefcase everywhere. Only because it was harder to defend himself while lugging it around, and he didn’t want Dave to get hurt protecting him. Somehow, after the night Klaus broke down crying just because Dave told him something that reminded him of Ben, they got closer.

When before it was just a soldier looking after another soldier who probably shouldn’t be on the field, just because he was ordered to, suddenly became _Dave_ looking after _Klaus_ because he wanted to.

And to be honest, Klaus wasn’t even sure if Dave was really looking after him anymore. Sure, it was Dave who was convincing him to eat, reminding him to pay attention when the captain came to check on them so he wouldn’t get in trouble and comforting him when he _just missed Ben so much–_ but…

Somehow Dave weaseled his way onto Klaus’ list of People He Cared About, and he found himself saving some of his rations to give to Dave, because Dave just couldn’t resist feeding his food to the animals they encountered on their long treks across the country. He found himself quietly listening to Dave talk about his little sister at home, and cheered him up by regaling him with tales as the token ‘little sibling’ of their family, and the chaos he’d caused as a child. He touched Dave, who was clearly touched-starved, with hugs and casual arms slung over his shoulders, and sometimes, in the dark, he pressed almost kisses to his curly hair after a nightmare had woken Dave up.

It all happened so slowly, that it wasn’t until month four when he realised that– he _cared_ about Dave. Really, genuinely _cared_ about him. And that was dangerous. 

The briefcase still refused to open, but Klaus could feel the hum of energy that wasn’t there before. Klaus was hoping against hope that it had some sort of self repair system going on, and soon it would eventually open and take him home. He couldn’t have anyone holding him back here. He _couldn’t._ Ben was more important, Ben was very likely going insane without him, slowly turning more and more like the other ghosts the longer Klaus stayed here and when he got back whatever mess was left of Ben would be _all his fault–_

He just couldn’t let that happen. He needed to get home to his little brother, not end up staying for some random soldier he knew for all of a few months.

But unfortunately, Klaus wasn’t a drug addict for nothing. Although it would be in the best interest for everyone involved if Klaus just pushed Dave away, he always ended up too weak to refuse when Dave politely offered his hand to help Klaus up a tricky rock formation, or how he grinned so widely when Klaus told him the same funny story for the fourth time in a row, as if he could never get bored of him. As if Klaus was someone worth listening to.

It was a completely forgien feeling, and more addictive than anything, so he was weak, and he followed Dave around like a lost puppy, all the way into a run down bar in a dodgy veitnamese street on their week off.

They got pissed as hell, they danced and joked and flirted with women, and slowly drifted to each other from other ends of the room without either of them even realising it, like two ships lost in a storm. They stayed together after that, dancing together, and drinking together, and wandering off to an isolated part of the bar to talk, just the two of them together.

It occurred to him, as he watched Dave's face light up with a smile, that this was probably the closest thing to happy he’s had in years. And wasn’t that horrible? Ben tried his best, had spent years desperately trying to get Klaus sober so that he would be happy, and then Klaus went and found it in a shady club with a guy he’d only known for a few months.

Dave’s beautiful smile slowly fell off his face as he took in Klaus’ change of mood. “Hey, are you okay?”

Feeling raw under that softly concerned stare of his, he looked away, shrugging one shoulder. “Oh, you know, I just…” he shrugged again, and went silent. He couldn’t tell Dave what was really bothering him because of the rumor Allison put him under, and had yet to take off. Dave waited, so kindly and patiently, that it spurred him on to keep talking, to try anyway. “I had a...brother,” technically worked, he had multiple brothers, he could be talking about any of them. The rumour still threatened to close his throat up, daring him to keep talking. “He just. I-I just–just... m-miss him. A lot.”

That was all he could say. The rumour was working hard to shut him up, and his throat actually hurt with the effort of talking. It was almost like holding back tears, or maybe he was?

Dave nodded understandingly. “Ben, right? I hear you say his name in your sleep,” he added, probably in response to his gobsmacked face, mouth hanging open. That was the first time in years he heard anyone other than himself say Ben’s name. It was what Ben had been yearning for _years,_ someone other than Klaus to acknowledge him, to recognize that he existed once, and it had finally happened.

But Ben wasn’t here.

Tears suddenly filled his eyes and he shook his head, pushing his hands hard into his eye sockets until he saw static. “Hey, hey no, no, no honey, please don’t hurt yourself like that, okay?”

He sobbed out a laugh. ”Honey? Is that what we’re calling our bros now?”

Dave froze, looking every bit like Klaus had just revealed a deep and horrible secret to the world. Klaus was almost confused for a second or two, until he remembered that he was in 1968. Dave could very well be killed for this if he said something like this to the wrong person, and judging by the way he was floundering, he was clearly re-evaluating everything he thought he knew about Klaus. 

“Uh, no, it’s just– I just slipped up, is all, I have a girlfriend at home and you… remind me of her? Shit no– I’m so sorry, I’m not a fag, I promise, just please don’t call the cops.”

Wincing at the slur, he gently placed a hand on Dave’s shoulder, although you would have never guessed that, judging by the way he froze in place, as if Klaus had him in a grip he knew he couldn’t escape.

“Dave,” he said. For lack of anything else to say. He stared at him desperately, as if he could convey all the care and appreciation and _love_ he felt for Dave by eye contact alone, and _shit_ when the hell did he decide that he loved Dave? He’d never felt anything like this before, all his previous conquests had been in the name of survival. He’d honestly doubted he even _could_ feel love like this.

Lost, confused, and scared as all hell, he did the first thing that popped into mind, and he leaned in and kissed him.

It was sweet, chaste, and yet it still felt like the best kiss he ever had. And by the look on Dave's face, he felt the same way.

“So, you have a girlfriend at home?” he teased, his lips twitching upwards in response to the wide smile that graced Dave’s face.

“No,” he breathed out. “No, I don’t.”

They didn’t end up gratuitously making out as either of them wanted to; Dave was still in shock, and Klaus was still thinking about Ben. 

Despite the significance of the kiss, it didn’t really change anything. Nothing had really shifted in their relationship, just confirmed something that was already there. They stayed in that little isolated part of the club for the rest of the night talking about nothing and standing close, smiling at each other like idiots. No one noticed them.

Eventually, they went back to the motel they were staying at, discreetly going into the same room. They didn’t do anything, just laid in a small single person bed, hugging each other close. And talked. They talked a lot. They talked until the sun went up and Dave was almost falling asleep from where he was tucked under Klaus’ chin.

For the first time in years, he felt safe, he felt vulnerable, and he was the happiest he had ever been in his life. And all he could think was: _Shit._

* * *

_It had been hours, and Ben was no closer to finding his brother. He had checked all the places he knew Klaus loved to spend time in. Their old apartment, the library, the alleyways, but he wasn’t anywhere._

_Ben never realised it before, but he had some sort of Klaus-sense. Not the old, rusted one that he cultivated over the years during their childhood, back when he was the one who looked after Klaus, but one that only appeared when he died. It was like a string connecting them that was suddenly severed, like a moth blindly looking for a light that had been switched off. He hadn’t had the presence of mind to notice when he first died, and it was subtle enough that he easily accepted it as their brotherly bond once he came back to himself. But now it was gone, it felt as obvious as blood pouring out of a wound, and he desperately wondered how he had never noticed it before._

_He didn’t know what it was, or if it had anything to do with Klaus’ powers, or if it was just Ben, but he knew, without a doubt, that his brother was nowhere in this plane of existence, or even in his time. Did Klaus even exist anymore?_

_He could feel it, niggling at the corners of his mind, his brother’s absence was creeping into his brain like poison, changing him, making him feel like he did in that first horrible year when he died._

_Was this how ghosts became their horrible screaming selves? Was this why they clawed at his brother? Desperately begging for even a scrap of acknowledgement from the living, to be reminded that they were real. Sickenly, he understood, and for a vile moment he could see himself as one of the ghosts tormenting Klaus’ dreams._

_His chest hurt, and he was dying again, he must be, the Horror was coming back to tear him apart for good. He gripped his chest, his stomach, but there was no movement underneath his skin, his chest was moving up and down, but it wasn’t the Horror trying to push through his sternum, it was just his lungs, expanding and deflating his ribcage, normally, only a bit too fast._

_He was having a panic attack, he realised, and he fiercely bit his lip, breathing in harshly through his nose. He should be looking for his brother, he should be trying to contact his siblings, despite all the times he had failed before. He should be doing anything but sitting on the ground and letting his lungs try and fail to pull air into his body._

_For lack of any other method to calm himself down, he breathed, shakily, into his hands. Being non-corporeal, he couldn’t interact with the real world. He was breathing, but no air was being pulled into his lungs. It wasn’t the oxygen, or the carbon dioxide that was calming him down, it was just the act of doing something that he would’ve done when he was alive that made his heart slow down, that made the abhorrent feeling in his gut and chest lessen. The Horror wasn’t inside of him, wasn’t about to tear him apart, and the thought brought both relief and a strange sense of loneliness._

_He wanted klaus._

* * *

Klaus had been in relationships before, so he had some level of expectations for a relationship, as he was told real people usually do. Dave completely blew all of those expectations out of the water. 

Dave was good, Dave was _far too good_ for someone like Klaus. Dave didn’t get mad at him for being too annoying, he didn’t try to stop Klaus from smoking or using, but he didn’t force them on him either. All of his past relationships had been built on Klaus’ need to stay out of the bad weather, or to stay high, and subsequently either Klaus or his partner had an ulterior motive getting in the way of everything, but Dave was just… so genuine. He didn’t ask Klaus to stay out of danger because he needed him alive, he _wanted_ him alive, and that somehow made all the difference. 

Dave made him feel things he’d never felt before, or at least hadn’t felt in a long time. He made him feel happy, he made him feel safe, he made him feel _loved_. All things he’d thought that were impossible to feel in the middle of a battlefield, but Dave was just that much of a miracle.

Klaus’ absolute favourite time being in Vietnam was when they were given a break from the constant bullets and bombs to hang out in some town nearby. Much like the first night, they would dance, drink, and stumble to a motel to spend the night. They would spend all night cuddling close together on a one-person bed, talking until they fell asleep. It was perfect. 

...almost perfect.

There was something niggling Klaus in the corner of his mind, but he usually ignored it. He had long figured out that Dave was pretty much his first actual relationship and _no_ he wasn’t as knowledgeable about relationships as he thought he was. It had stung a little, but it was easily forgotten in the face of having to relearn how he thought relationships worked all over again. No, Dave didn’t just want him for drugs, though he did appreciate it if he shared. No Dave doesn’t need him alive, he _wants_ him alive, and that somehow made all the difference. It wasn’t rare to have things that persistently poked in his mind that insisted something was wrong, but this one was different. He was pretty sure that this was considered normal in relationships everywhere, but he and Dave hadn’t even done it yet. Dave had never asked or brought it up.

It blurted out of him before he was prepared. “How come we never had sex?”

Dave blearily blinked his eyes open, gazing at Klaus with his soft, gentle eyes. “You’ve always seemed happy to stop before we got that far. I’m too tired to do anything now, though.”

“No, that’s– that wasn’t what I was asking.” he shook his head as best he could against the cushion and Dave stretched, wrapping an arm around Klaus in the process.

“What were you asking, then?”

“We’ve never had sex.”

“Yes, I'm aware.”

“And you’re just… okay with that? Like, you aren’t mad about it or anything?”

“Why would i be mad? I don’t care if we have sex or not.” 

Klaus didn’t have an answer to that, and Dave was too tired to follow it up, drifting off to sleep instead. He watched him breathe, thinking. 

He shook his shoulder. “Dave. Hey, Dave.”

“Huhh?” Dave grunted. “Wha?”

“I don’t want to have sex.”

Dave blinked. “Okay.”

“Ever.”

“Then that’s fine? You’re my favourite person, Klaus, you’re enough.” 

Klaus would have loved to say something else, but his eyes had suddenly developed a strange infection that made them water uncontrollably. Dave held him while he discreetly wiped away his tears and held back sobs. 

Klaus thinks he's fallen a little bit in love.

* * *

 _For lack of anything more productive to do, he followed the only one of his siblings who might actually notice that Klaus was gone, Diego. Though he didn’t understand when Klaus tried to tell him that Ben was here, he still_ cared. _He didn’t get angry when Klaus talked to Ben, and though he never let Klaus stay the night without him in the room again, he still helped them out whenever Klaus could bring himself to ask._

_Ben knew that in Klaus’ darkest moments, he thought that Diego was the only one of their siblings who still loved them. In Klaus’ darkest moments, he forgot that their siblings didn’t know that Ben was a ghost, cursed them for leaving them alone, leaving Ben with him. Ben doesn't like Klaus’ darkest moments._

_It took awhile for him to remember where Diego was residing these days, a motel, his friends’ house, a girlfriend’s house, it changed pretty much every time he saw him, but eventually he found Diego in his shitty boiler room. He walked through the door, and was surprised to find Luther inside as well, not even fighting with Diego or anything._

_“Funny. If I didn’t know he was such a prick I’d say he looks almost adorable in his sleep.” Diego commented, back turned to Ben, staring at something on his bed._

_Eyebrows furrowed, he stepped around them from where they were standing, staring at Diego's bed. Huh. Five was there, asleep. Five had always been ridiculously paranoid, even before he ran away. Ben could count on one hand the amount of times he saw Five sleep, and he had to agree with Diego's assessment._

_“Well, don’t worry,” Luther spoke up, and Ben suddenly found himself intimidated by One’s height. He never got close enough to Luther at the funeral to really compare, but now that he was standing next to him, he only reached up to Luther's chest. “He’ll sober up eventually. Be back to his normal, unpleasant self.”_

_“Yeah, I can’t wait that long, I need to find out what his connection is with those lunatics. Before someone else dies.” Lunatics? Was he talking about Hazel and Cha Cha? Did he notice that Klaus was gone? The thought made something almost like hope rise in his chest, and though he knew better, he couldn’t help but hold his breath._

_“All that stuff he was saying before…” Something thumped overhead, and that seemed to take Diego's attention. Ben listened to Luther anyways, in case Klaus would want to know what happened while he was gone. “What do you think he meant by that?”_

_The thumping turned into footsteps, and he ran ahead of Diego to see who it was. “It’s just an old man, Diego.” He ignored him, per usual, walking through him, and though he knew he couldn’t help it, hurt still curled in his chest._

_“If you throw another one of those goddamn knives at me, I'm pressin’ charges!”_

_“What do you want, Al?” Diego groaned. They obviously knew each other, and now that he thought of it, he might have seen Al before. Maybe when Klaus stayed here?_

_“I ain’t your secretary. Some lady called for you, said she needs your help.”_

_“What lady?”_

_“I dunno, some detective. I think she said her name was, uh, Blotch or something.”_

_“Patch?” Al did a strange mixture of a shrug and a nod._

_“She needs you to meet her at that motel you used to stay at, the dump on calhoun.” That was the motel they took Klaus to! Did Patch see Klaus?_

_“When?”_

_“About half an hour ago. Uh, said she found your brother.” Ben's stomach flipped as Diego glanced over at Five._

_“Klaus! She found Klaus! I think we saw her, go and find him!” He went unheard, and watched, heart in his throat, as Diego looked at Luther._

_“Well, that didn’t make sense.” They made eye contact with each other, and Ben knew that they finally, finally got it._

_“Klaus.” They both said, and Ben couldn’t hold back a cheer. Sure, they might not have noticed, but they knew now, and they knew to look for Klaus and they would find him and everything would be all right._

* * *

“... I think we would have a farm.”

Klaus barked out a laugh. “Really Dave? Sweet city boy like me, I could never handle it.”

“Aw, sure you could.” He paused. “You’d adjust. I just really want chickens.”

He laughed again, he didn’t think he ever laughed this much in his life. His face actually hurt from smiling. A future where he could live with Dave sounded like the best thing ever. They wouldn’t get a farm, but they’d get a nice little place in the suburbs with a backyard so Dave could still have his chickens. Their neighbours would be sweet old ladies, who may or may not be lesbians themselves. They’d have dinners together, and Dave would invite his sister over, and of course, Ben would–

Oh. Ben. Right. He sighed, all the fun leaving him at the reminder. He shouldn't have been entertaining these thoughts anyway– even if he didn’t have to go home, it was very unlikely that their future together would even be like that. Someone would probably call the cops on them before they could say mortgage plan.

“I wish I could live with you Davey, but I have to go back to my family.”

“Yeah, so do I, but we could still visit! I could tell my mom that you're a friend I made on my tour and she would feed you so much food, you’d actually get some meat on your bones.” He pinched Klaus’ cheeks and laughed when Klaus irritably swatted him away.

“That would be lying, Katzy, I thought you were against that.” 

“Yeah, but only because we have to. Hey, maybe we can hold out and see if the future’s really as good as you say it is.”

He laughed, letting his head fall back on Dave’s shoulder, and listened to him talk animatedly about what sort of foods his mother would feed him. God, why the hell was he entertaining this? He was only torturing himself and disappointing Dave.

Once again, he considered telling Dave that he was from the future, but dismissed it almost instantly. He couldn’t think about that. Telling Dave would cause the butterfly effect or something, surely letting someone from the past know that you were from the future was frowned upon among time travellers. Maybe he should ask Five if he gets back. _When_ he gets back.

He also couldn’t just take Dave back with him. The two freaks that kidnapped and tortured him had to have been the ones who owned the briefcase, and he overheard them talking about a ‘commission.’ They talked as if they were just two grunts who were hired as a part of a much larger scheme and Klaus had no doubt that if he tried to take Dave back home with him, then the commission, or Five, would personally come and kill him.

The thought of Dave getting tortured like Klaus had the day before he came here made him shudder, and he curled up into Dave’s side, smiling a little as Dave wrapped an arm around him.

He couldn’t take Dave with him, and he couldn’t go back on his own and leave Dave to think that he’d died or something. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Klaus should have been thinking hard on this problem, like any of his useful siblings would have done, but everytime he tried to pick apart the problem, vainly searching for a solution, it stressed him out so much that he ended up avoiding any and all things that reminded him of the future. He’d even stopped singing songs from the future, much to the disappointment of Dave, who had turned out to be a really big fan of pop music. Some people really were born in the wrong generation.

Much to his distress, his avoidance technique had even started to extend to the briefcase. He avoided looking at it now, and it eventually caused him so much stress that he’d pushed it under his bed. Out of sight, out of mind, but he didn’t want that, he needed to get home to Ben. But he wanted to stay and build a future with Dave. He had foreseen this problem in the beginning, had shoved Dave away the best he could, but he ended up with him anyway, and he didn’t regret it, because this was the happiest he’d ever been, but he needed to get back home.

He was running in circles, like a chicken with it’s head chopped off. He’d ended up stuck, caught between two worlds and no way to compromise. 

_God,_ why did he have to open the briefcase in the first place, why couldn’t he have pawned it and gotten his money and still be with Ben, or better yet, why couldn’t have Ben come with him? He didn’t know if it was possible to take living passengers, much less ghost passengers along time travelling, but then everything would be _so much_ easier. Ben would be with him, and he would have Dave, and they wouldn’t need to worry about apocalypses, or shitty siblings or evil time travelling assassins.

Okay, they might still have to worry about the latter. It didn’t matter anyways, he shouldn’t be dwelling like this. It didn’t matter if saying that one thing would have changed the fallout of events, it only mattered what he did now. 

...And he was still a bit stuck on that particular problem. Ben would say that technically, since he had a time machine he could go back and stop himself from ever opening it, but Klaus was pretty sure that Five would cut him open if he ever found out about that. The thought of Ben sent another fresh wave of grief over him and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

The briefcase probably didn’t have enough juice to take him back anyway, there was no point in trying to open it and setting himself up for disappointment. That was just it. He didn’t want to be disappointed, and he would open it later when it was _definitely_ ready to take him back so that way he wouldn’t have to think about the fact that he was... leaving Dave.

Right. That was what he would do. That was a good plan.

Right?

He wished he could tell Dave about this, he wished he could just have _anyone_ to talk to. Anyone who just might have even the slightest chance of helping him. To his surprise, his mind automatically went to Diego, which made no sense, as Diego was probably the least rational out of all his siblings. Still, Diego was always there for him. Despite all the times they had hurt each other, and that catastrophic series of events that led to dad kidnapping Klaus, he still trusted Diego. As much as he could. 

Diego would tell him to come back.

So would every one of his siblings, actually. _‘Family matters more,’ ‘you can’t just ditch when things get hard,’ ‘you’re not allowed to be happy, Four!’_

He couldn’t think who would say that last part, but it bounced around so tangibly in his head, someone must have said it.

But why wasn’t he allowed to be happy? What had he ever done wrong, apart from being born? All he had ever tried to do was survive, survive when he wasn’t even allowed to die. Why couldn’t he be safe from the ghosts? Why did he have to give up the one good thing that had ever happened to him?

He didn’t understand. He didn’t understand, yet understood all too well. Klaus Hargreeves didn’t deserve happiness

Number Four didn’t deserve happiness.

And that was how it was going to be, across time and space, forever and always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ace Klaus reigns supreme 😌


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finally finished writing this fic!! oof that took a while sdfjjgfds but now it's all a matter of posting it for you guys to see 🥺

He groaned as his migraine tightened its mighty grip on his poor, poor, head. Dave shot him a sympathetic look, batting some vines out of the way for him. “Thanks,” He croaked. God, what he would give for some drugs. And water, water was pretty important too. According to the captain, they were ‘not too far’ from their next checkpoint. Which could mean anything from the next half-hour to days.

He stumbled on some stray roots and groaned in frustration as his headache throbbed. And to top it all off, ghosts were starting to multiply in his vision, yelling about something that the remnants of his high kept muffled. “Quiet, spook! Do you want to get killed by the congs just because it’s a little hot?”

He stuck out his tongue at whoever said that. Not Dave, he was far too nice for that, maybe Chaz, that guy was an asshole. He knew for a fact that there weren’t any viet congs around for miles. Though all the ghosts were a tad too vengeful to really befriend any, (and, in a ridiculous way, befriending a ghost felt a little too much like replacing Ben, so it wasn’t like he really pursued the matter.) He could still tell how they died and what dangers to look out for by how they looked. And though his eyesight was annoyingly blurry, the ghosts didn’t seem to have died from any ambush.

...Though, while there wasn’t a gunshot wound in sight, the ghosts did seem a little too bloody and torn apart to have died from natural causes. And they did look a little desperate. Not the desperate anger of ghosts who spent far too long not being seen, but like they were trying to warn them–

“Shit! Stop walking!” He yelled, just a fraction too late. The ground shook as the captain stepped on a hidden minefield, dirt and shrapnel and body parts flew over them. “Christ on a cracker!” He yelled, heart in his throat, his ears ringing far too loud to hear himself, much less anyone else. The first minefield set off another minefield, and another, and another. Klaus wasn’t even consciously aware of what he was doing, only that suddenly he was carrying a weight on his shoulder, and his chest was burning, headache pounding with every step he took as he ran far, far away from the danger.

Eventually, he collapsed, gasping. Years of smoking did not lend well to strong lungs, he choked, as he desperately sucked in air. The weight on his shoulder fell off and groaned, and Klaus froze. In the heat of the moment he must have grabbed the person closest to him and booked it. Shit, if he was carrying a person, then that meant they couldn’t carry themselves. And they were in the middle of the forest with no idea where in the fresh hell they were. Shit. He looked over at the person, and almost didn’t recognize them as someone in his troop, though they were wearing the same uniform they all wore, it was covered in blood. Other’s or their own, Klaus didn’t know. 

He jumped up, and grabbed the person’s blood-covered shoulder and gently rolled them onto their back, preparing to make soothing sounds and conduct some emergency first aid, when he took in who, exactly, it was.

No, no. No no no no nonononononono. Words died in his throat as he grabbed Dave’s bloody face - _so much like Ben’s, so dead-_ and he desperately attempted to shake him awake. “No, no, NO NO NO!” This wasn’t allowed, Dave wasn’t supposed to die, he wasn’t supposed to leave him, he wasn’t supposed to die looking like- like _this._ Bloody and silent and unconscious and like _Ben_ and wasn’t that so selfish? His boyfriend was dead and all he could think about was his brother. He let out a sob, and buried his head in Dave's chest.

But. Dave wasn’t dead, he realised with a jolt. His heart was still beating, quickly. Too quick. Dave was losing blood. Dave was losing blood, and he could actually do something to stop it. Unlike Ben, he could save Dave.

The thought shocked him into moving, and he ripped apart Dave's vest, assessing the damage. Was he going to die in the next ten minutes, or would he make a few hours if Klaus came up with something?

Even with his vest off he was covered head to toe in blood. The sight made him falter a little, because it reminded him so much of when Ben died– before he shook his head. Ben had nothing to do with this. What mattered was making sure Dave survived long enough for Klaus to take him to a medic.

A quick glance told him that although he was painted with blood, there were actually only two wounds that were severely bleeding. His neck, and his arm, where some shrapnel must have caught him. He was covered in burns, but it didn’t seem serious, and there were some jagged tree parts impaled in his legs. The land mine must have blown them into him. 

Well, even Klaus wasn’t stupid enough to take them out, and the only injury that seemed to need immediate attention was the rather deep one on his neck. He could tie a tourniquet to his arm, but he couldn’t do that with his neck, for fear of choking him. It was rather large, similar to a cut, almost covering half of the circumference of Dave’s neck, and it was bleeding profusely. The lack of spraying meant that by some miracle no shrapnel had hit any of his arteries, but the danger of bleeding out from all his cut veins was just as real.

He desperately looked around, but there wasn’t anything he could feasibly use to stop the bleeding, someone would need to hold pressure on it, but Klaus needed both hands to carry Dave–

He was pulled out of his frantic thoughts by a groan, and he whipped his head down to be blessed with the sight of Dave blearily pulling his eyes open.

“Wha’ happen?” He mumbled, once he pulled himself together enough to realise that Klaus was sitting over him.

“Oh thank god! You’re awake!” He cried, pulling Dave up as smoothly as he could manage. Dave’s head lolled onto his shoulder. “No, no, no, no, don’t do that, look, I need you to hold your hand there, just hold it nice and tight against there, okay?”

Dave obliged, shakily pulling his hand up to press weakly against his neck, even when his face twisted in a grimace. “Hurts.”

“I know, I know, I know Davey. But you have to do that okay? You need to stop the bleeding okay? I’ll get you to a medic, don’t worry.”

Dave squinted at him, “B' you’re bleedin.” 

Now that Dave pointed it out, he could feel the tickle of blood dripping down his face, adrenaline was keeping him from feeling the pain fully, but it was starting to wear off. Everything throbbed.

“It’s fine, I'm fine, you’re the one who’s hurt, okay? Just let me deal with this.”

Dave clearly wanted to argue, but winced when another wave of pain hit him. “Okay,” he murmured. That was all the conversation Dave could take apparently, as he groaned and slumped his head when Klaus moved. But he was still holding his hand as tightly as he could against his neck and that was all that mattered.

The next few hours were a blur of pain and exhaustion and mounting fear. It was only because of some Vietnamese ghosts who lived in the forests that they ever managed to get out in the first place, and it was one of the rare, rare times that Klaus was thankful for his powers. 

The shitty day, withdrawal, dehydration, and shock all piled on top of him, and when he had finally arrived at camp, Klaus had apparently burst into the medical tent, half-delusional, sobbing, and they had to pull Dave away from him. Apparently he had passed out almost instantly afterwards, which explained his loss of memories. Add extensive blood loss to his laundry list of physical problems. He only knew what happened because a kind nurse told him as she gave him his soup. She had also told him that they had sent out a rescue mission, and there were no survivors found. 

Klaus didn’t know if he was upset or not. He didn’t know them well, but they had clearly accepted him as one of their own, despite his unorthodox arrival, which was more than he even ever got from his siblings. He hoped, if nothing else, that they went wherever ghosts went when they moved on. Given the violent and surprising nature of their death, probably not, but he could dream.

Because Klaus wasn’t that injured, he got let out much earlier than Dave did, only staying in the med tent for a night to get his strength back up. Dave had passed out and had yet to wake up yet. 

So obviously, there was only one place for Klaus to be. Sitting next to Dave’s cot waiting for him to wake up, however, lended him an excruciating amount of thinking time. And this horrible series of events led him to realise something that made his gut clench.

See, the one thing that Klaus had forgotten while he was angsting over the briefcase was that they were in the middle of a war. Klaus would have been long dead if not for his powers, and Dave was a vulnerable, squishy human being. Klaus’ problem could very well solve itself. The idea had been so horrifying and painful that he had dismissed it when the thought first came up. But now, after such a close call, he had to consider it.

Forgetting that they were in a medical tent in the 1960’s, or maybe he just didn’t care, he leant over Dave and held back sobs, hugging him as tightly as he could without aggravating his wounds. He stayed like that for a while, just as he was starting to think that maybe the nurses were in on some kind of gay thing themselves, when he felt an arm shakily move from its resting position and gently stroke his shoulders.

He lifted his head, sniffling, “Dave?”

“Hi,” He attempted a smile for Klaus, before it was marred by a wince. “Are you okay?”

He huffed out an approximation of a laugh, “I should be asking you that, you’re the one who got blown up!”

In a true Dave manner, he smiled, attempting a shrug before flinching. “It’s not so bad. Though, some pain meds would be nice.”

“Of course,” he squeezed Dave's hand, leaving to find him some drugs. He would be okay. He would be okay and the relief threatened to knock him over. Everything would be okay. 

* * *

_“Klaus? Hey, Klaus?” When Diego couldn’t find Patch at the receptionist, he started looking into the motel rooms, calling out for Klaus, as if that would do anything. Ben still followed him like a lost puppy, naively hoping that Diego would find Klaus despite missing a great part of the puzzle. Ben had already tried to tell him that Klaus wasn’t here, he should be figuring out what the hell the briefcase was, and what it did with Klaus._

_As usual, he was ignored, and Diego continued his brilliant searching strategy until he ran into Patch at the carpark._

_“Patch! Hey, I got your message.”_

_“About time. I’d actually already gone without you.”_

_“Seriously?”_

_“Yeah, are you still using Al as a messaging system? Get a phone, Hargreeves.”_

_Diego shifted and crossed his arms, that was obviously a sore spot. Now that he knew what Patch looked like, he recognized her silhouette. She was definitely the woman who passed the window of the motel room Klaus was stuck in. And she was a cop on top of it all, had Klaus succeeded to get her attention, she probably could’ve gotten rid of Hazel and Cha Cha and freed Klaus before he got to the briefcase. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to think about what could’ve happened, if Cha Cha hadn’t walked in._

_“You said you saw my brother?”_

_Patch mirrored Diego's pose and looked down at the ground. “I couldn’t find him. I found a van that someone had written ‘your brother says hi,’ on the window. It had a brochure for this motel tucked underneath the wiper blades, I figured it couldn’t be a coincidence.”_

_Diego cursed under his breath, looking away. Ben knew that the message she found was probably written by one of the assassins, probably left for Five. Maybe he would know what the briefcase was, but he was asleep right now._

_“Shit. Well, he’s probably fine. Just out getting high.”_

_...What? Ben stared at Diego, shocked. He couldn’t really think that, could he? He couldn’t be like the rest of their siblings._

_Patch tilted her head, “I thought you said you needed to find him?”_

_“I was talking about a different brother, and I found him by myself. Klaus was also missing around the same time that Five was, but it’s more likely that he’s getting high than anything bad.”_

_“Getting high is pretty bad by itself.” Patch challenged, but Ben didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, still reeling from what Diego said. He– he wasn’t going to try to find Klaus. He just assumed like everyone else did that Klaus was getting high and didn’t need them. They always assumed that._

_Suddenly the thought of spending any more time with Diego was disgusting, betrayal sitting heavily in his stomach, and he turned around and left, retracing Klaus’ steps from when he first escaped the motel, with the goddamn briefcase._

_Night had long passed, and it was late morning now. Hours since Klaus disappeared. The niggling at his brain still hasn't gone away. It had only gotten worse, like a raw and dirty infection._

_...What if Klaus never came back? Though Ben knew how easily his brain lept to the worst possible outcome, he thought, without a doubt, that he was going to become the thing that Klaus had spent so long running from._

_He stood and closed his eyes, waiting for the thought to turn into a panic attack, but ten minutes came and went, and nothing happened. It wasn’t until he wiped his face and the blood came back thinner and pinker than usual, that he realised he was crying._

_God, he just wanted Klaus to come back and make it better. He would even tolerate Klaus’ worst dad jokes, would even laugh at them, if it meant that his big brother would come back._

* * *

There was going to be a big battle tomorrow, a lot of great men were going to lose their lives and the tension around the camp was almost tangible. He and Klaus were leaning on a large tree, with Dave lying on Klaus’ chest, his head on his shoulder. They had escaped to a quieter part of camp, where it was safe enough to cuddle. Safe enough to soak up what could be the last moments they had with each other. God, he hoped not. He _really_ hoped not.

It’s true, that Klaus so far had seemed almost immortal. There had been multiple times when he thought that Klaus had been shot down, only to run over to him, heart in his throat, and find that everything was okay. Still, luck had to run out eventually, and like he always did before a battle, he couldn’t help but hold Klaus close to soothe his brain going _what if, what if, what if,_ all around in circles. Klaus didn’t mind, Dave suspected he took comfort in it too.

Dave suspected because Klaus never told him anything. He presented himself as an open book, letting others look into his pages and draw their own conclusions, while being fully aware that they didn’t know the language. Look, the man was a prisoner of war, and he didn’t want to push anything too hard and too fast, especially when Klaus started dating him. (The thought still made him light up with joy. Klaus was dating him! He was dating Klaus!) But it had been almost eight months, and Dave had hoped that Klaus would have told him something important by now. Sure, he knew about his family, and his brother, Ben. But it was clear that Klaus was hiding something very important from him. Something that was eating his lover from the inside out. It hurt a little, actually, knowing that Klaus didn’t trust him with something so important.

“Hm? Davey? What's wrong?”

He startled out of his thoughts, and looked up at Klaus’ sleepy eyes. They should probably go back to their tents soon, they didn’t want to fall asleep here and get caught.

He smiled. “I’m fine, just thinking about you.”

“Uh-uh. No, you are not doing that, Dave.”

“Doing what?”

“That. Saying you’re fine when something is bothering you. C’mon, Katzy! Don’t you trust me?”

“Why should I, you clearly don’t trust me,” he muttered, and on any other day he would have gotten away with it. Growing up as the youngest of his family, he had become an expert at last minute silent remarks that no one heard, just so he could have the last word. So on any other day, Klaus would have missed what he said, especially with his horrible hearing, but as it was, his and Klaus’ faces were intimately close, and the only way for him to miss anything Dave said was if he’d only silently mouthed the words.

Klaus stilled, face frozen in a smile. Guilt instantly flooded, and he sat up away from his boyfriend. Klaus stayed quiet, and Dave took that as prompting to talk. “It’s just… you _don’t_ trust me. Not with anything important. This whole time since you’ve been here- which is what, ten months?- you have been keeping a secret that has been _eating_ at you and it’s killing me that you don’t trust me to help you with that.”

“I–I _do_ trust you, Dave, I just can’t–”

“What? You can’t trust me?” His voice became thick with tears, and wow, this had been bothering him more than he thought. The conversation was bothering Klaus more than he anticipated as well, he could see tears gathering up in his eyes, and it made him feel horribly guilty but he needed answers.

“ _No!_ No, Dave, no, I trust you with my life, but this…” He waited, anticipating as Klaus trailed off. Klaus closed his eyes and took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for something. Distantly, he thought that maybe Klaus was scared that he’d be _mad_ at him or something. Maybe even hurt him? The thought made him recoil instantly, but he knew that Klaus couldn’t always tell what was considered abusive treatment or not, thanks to his shitty father and increasingly shitty partners. With that in mind, Dave tried to soften himself a bit, tried not to seem like a potential threat, but a worried boyfriend. He had no idea if it made Klaus feel better, or if he even noticed, because he turned his head away, avoiding eye contact as he started to talk.

“...If I tell you what’s been bothering me, do you promise to believe me? No matter what?”

“ _Yes.”_ He answered without a moment's hesitation. He knew Klaus, and he knew that unless he was trying to get drugs, or was desperate enough to make promises he knew he couldn’t keep, he didn’t tend to lie. No matter how absurd the truth would be, Dave would believe it, because, call him sappy, but he trusted him, with all his heart.

“What would you do, if hypothetically, you were kidnapped,” Oh, so his time as a prisoner of war was bothering him, that… wasn’t easy to fix, but surely Klaus knew that Dave would be there– ”by time travelling assassins torturing you for information about your own time travelling brother.”

... _What._

Klaus swallowed, eyes flickering nervously to Dave’s face and the ground. He hurried on before he had a chance to speak. “And what if, you got away and stole their time travelling briefcase, and you opened it, and you landed here. But you broke the briefcase, so you can’t get back. Not immediately, at least.”

“Wha–Klaus–”

“And, and in the process you left your b–bro– _brother_ , behind. As a ghost. And you’re the only one who he can talk to. So y–you, you–” The tears that had been building up in Klaus’ eyes finally fell over, dripping down his chin. “I _abandoned_ my b–bro– _him,_ and he’s gonna go insane without me, and the briefcase will definitely work now, I know it, but I stayed here, because you’re the only person who ever made me truly _happy_ and I–”

“Whoa whoa whoa, sunshine, calm down, okay? Take a deep breath, okay? Calm down.”

“I knew it– you don’t believe me, no one _ever_ believes me–”

“No no no, Klaus, I _do._ I do believe you,” He murmured, pulling him into a tight hug. It might've sounded like mindless comforting, but somehow, he believed Klaus wholeheartedly. Not only did it explain many, many things, that he had shrugged off as dumb luck, but most importantly, it was true because it was upsetting Klaus, _killing_ him, and despite how good of an actor he was, there was no way that Klaus would get so upset over a lie. Klaus was telling the truth.

“I believe you, shh, it's okay, I believe you.”

A sob finally tore itself from him, and Dave held him tight, offering the comfort Klaus so desperately needed.

He could ask for elaboration later, he could help Klaus figure out what to do, he could ignore the guilt raveging his insides as he slowly realised that _he_ was the one causing all his pain. _He_ was the reason Klaus felt obligated to stay, why he felt so torn apart. 

Suddenly, it didn’t feel like the hug was only for Klaus anymore. He curled up into him, letting Klaus desperately cling onto his jacket, and if he cried some tears, well, Klaus wouldn’t mind. 

They would fix this later.

* * *

_Ben had given up. He had exhausted all of his options for the time being, and he was just tired. Tired and scared and miserable. He was sitting at the bus stop that Klaus was planning to get off at before he disappeared, as if Klaus would just hop off like he’d never left in the first place, and It was all Ben could do to not cry, not dwell on what his future looked like, not imagine whatever horrible thing was happening to Klaus, if he was even alive._

_No, he was, he was alive, he just needed to find him. He was just taking a break now because everything was weighing on him and all he could think about was how easier this would be if Klaus was here. If Ben wanted to do something with the living, and Klaus was in a good enough mood, Klaus would act as Ben’s proxy. Repeating what he said, turning the pages of the book Ben wanted to look at._

_It was the closest thing he could ever get to the living, and usually he hated it, hated being reminded so starkly of his death, his uselessness. Hated getting mad at Klaus for not being able to conjure him, even when he knew that Klaus genuinely didn’t know how. But right now, he would give anything for that level of access to the living. All he needed was just one sentence, hell, just one word, that he could say to the right person that would fix everything._

_But the only person who could do that was missing, and he buried his face into his bloody knees. Maybe if he just sat here and did nothing, Klaus would come back._

* * *

After their little heart to heart, they decided to go back to the campsite, falling asleep. Well, they pretended to, Klaus was definitely awake and he knew the sound of Dave’s breathing as he slept too well to not immediately know when Dave was awake. No doubt he was still processing what Klaus had told him. The memory of sobbing out to Dave what he’d swore he’d never tell anyone filled him with regret, and he dragged his nails over his face to suppress a groan.

Still, underneath the regret, he still felt a huge sense of relief that almost took his breath away. _Someone knew._ Someone who would _help_ him. For almost every part of his life, Klaus had been alone. He had to deal with the ghosts alone, and the scorn from his family when he had finally found a way to make them shut up. He had survived on the streets alone for a year, and while it was nice to have ben there to support him, it just wasn’t the same coming from a ghost who relied on him to not go insane.

No, for the first time in his life he had someone who was completely, wholley in his corner, because they wanted to be there. Dave was already so wonderful and beautiful, that Klaus had never expected this from him. It was almost too good to be true, except it wasn’t, because he knew without a doubt that Dave was real, more real than anything he encountered before.

Once Klaus had calmed down from his desperate little breakdown, Dave had prodded him for answers, could he see ghosts? Or just Ben? Why didn’t he tell him earlier? Was that the blue light he saw when Klaus first arrived? He tried his best, but he couldn’t answer a good portion of those questions, as the events that led to him here were so intrinsically tied with Ben, and he could barely speak without the rumour silencing him, let alone with. Dave didn’t understand, because Klaus couldn’t properly tell him, but he wanted to see if he could write and tell Dave that way tomorrow. After all, Allison told him to ‘stop _talking_ about Ben’, not write about him. It was just enough of a loophole that Klaus thought it might work. Maybe he could finally tell his siblings if he ever got home.

...When. When he got home.

* * *

Funnily enough, the constant explosions and gunshots on the battlefield didn’t bother him that much. Growing up with insane ghosts desperate for attention, he was used to a constant sound. No, what bothered him was the muzzle flash from the guns as they fired. It was constant and it blinded him, and in a moment of frenzy, he was reminded of his childhood stardom, grinning a plastic smile as cameras flashed and froze him in time. 

A bomb dropped near them, so near, that the world became white and Klaus was sure that he was about to meet the little girl again, when it disappeared as quickly as it came.“Christ on a cracker!” He shrieked as the ground shook, dirt and shrapnel and bodies praying over the ditch they were in. “That was a close one, huh, Dave?”

He expected a chuckle, or at least a huff of acknowledgement, but there was nothing. “Dave?” He nudged his arm, not taking his eyes off the battlefield before him even when he wanted nothing more than to squeeze his eyes shut against the horrible lightshow. His eyes felt like they were burning out of his skull. 

Dave still didn’t respond, he nudged him again and finally tore his eyes off to look at Dave. Head slumped to the ground, arms limp.

No, no no no no no no, Dave couldn’t be hurt _again_ , not in the middle of the battlefield– he grabbed Dave by the shoulder, almost throwing him over onto his back.

God, _god._ He’d been shot. Staring in shock, he watched his hands tremble over the exit wound on Dave’s chest, pressing onto it, before he snapped back to reality. 

“Medic! Medic!” He screamed but nobody heard, or cared, or both. “Hey!” He whipped back his head to look at Dave, as if he would turn to dust if he dared to even blink. “Dave, look at me, look at me, okay?” Dave coughed, Dave sputtered, Dave was dying. He bit back a sob. “Oh, damn it– MEDIC!”

There was a touch, feather light and wet on his arm, and he looked down to see Dave’s hand weakly grasping at him. “Okay, look at me. Hey, hey, hey. Hey.” He muttered mindlessly, stroking Dave's face with wildly shaking hands. Dave coughed again, blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth. Klaus pressed his hands more firmly onto the wound, anything that could keep Dave alive for a little longer. 

Dave’s eyes unfocused, staring at the peaceful stars above them as he choked. “No, no no, please. Please, please stay with me, stay with me–” and there it was, the _change,_ like the one he felt when Ben died, the laboured breaths becoming nonexistent, the life slowly leaching out of the body into a new place. A soul departing.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”

But Klaus didn’t _want_ Dave to leave– he wanted him to stay, he wanted to keep chickens with Dave and eat dinner with their elderly lesbian neighbours– he wanted to _stay with Dave._ “No, no, no. Damn it, I need a medic!”

He knew. He knew Dave was dead, but he still held Dave’s face desperately, as if by some chance, the spontaneous resurrection power he'd so desperately wished to have when Ben died would finally come, and Dave would be alive and everything would be okay again– but Dave stayed dead, eyes dully reflecting the stars.

Time stopped existing after that. There were hands on his shoulders– he was grabbing, taking something from Dave, why would he do that? Dave would want whatever it was back later. His throat hurt like hell, like it was bleeding. Maybe Allison rumoured him to shut up about Dave as well. Might as well be thorough in stealing everything Klaus loved away from him.

Soon he could only grasp little bits of time, a troop member talking to him, his words drowned out by the string of _no no no no no no_ going around and around in his head. Around and around and around and–

Like waking up suddenly, everything became crystal clear. He was sitting on his cot. He was holding something in his hands. Blood was dripping from where the little metal object cut into his palm. Slowly, painstakingly, he opened his hands, fingers moving as if they had been rusted in place. Dave’s tags sat innocently in his palm, almost concealing the GOODBYE tattoo underneath. 

He stared at it with wide eyes, until his foot slipped and brushed against something under his cot. The briefcase.

He took it out. Looked at it. And then tightened his fingers on the tags, ignoring the burst of pain from his palm. 

He opened the lid.


	13. Chapter 13

Ben sat there, curled up for hours as panic ebbed and flowed, drowning him. He was so lost in his head that he almost missed the cry that ripped through the air, making him jump. Had a violent ghost decided to take residence? He glanced around for the source and saw a man crying and banging something onto a bench. He must not be a ghost then, if he was interacting with two real objects. He was dressed like he was from some sort of war time, the green vest and pants could only be camouflage, but it didn’t look like anything modern. 

At first he thought it was his imagination, but the thing the man was destroying was sparking, as if he was destroying a computer instead of what looked like–

A briefcase.

He leapt up from his position curled up, watching in trepidation as the man threw the- it was undeniable now- the briefcase across the street, nearly hitting a jogger. The man screamed, spinning in a circle, and the briefcase exploded, setting itself on fire, and it was–

“Klaus!”

He ran over, heart in his throat, as Klaus collapsed, clawing at the ground. “Klaus, you’re here!” He yelled in joy, and immediately felt guilty when Klaus just curled up, a mirror image of the fetal position Ben himself was in just moments before, sobbing. 

He had never seen Klaus like this before, and for a moment he faltered, unsure, as Klaus sobbed his heart out. 

He didn’t know what to do.

* * *

Klaus didn’t say anything on the trek back to the academy. Sure, he acknowledged Ben, but it was the bare minimum, obviously just so Ben wouldn’t think that Klaus couldn’t see him or he was being ignored or something horrible like that instead of an actual desire to talk. He wouldn’t answer any of Ben’s questions, like _What happened? Where were you? Why do you have blood on your hands, Klaus? Klaus?_ With anything more than a tired shrug. 

He was different. Wherever he had been for the last few hours had changed him, though Ben couldn’t imagine what. The only clue Ben had was his attire, the new tattoo, the blood on his hands. Ben had seen his brother covered in blood before, like when their father repeatedly killed him, but somehow it never unnerved him quite like _this._

He was there to see how Klaus had got covered in blood then, but he had no idea how he managed it this time. A glance was all that was needed to see that he wasn’t injured anywhere else, at least seriously, so that meant that Klaus was trying to help someone else stop bleeding. A friend? A pet? A lover? The idea that it could be anyone, could be someone he knew for any length of time, hit him harder than he’d expected. Whatever happened, it _changed_ Klaus, and Ben wasn’t there for it. For the first time in a long, long time, he didn’t have access to a part of Klaus’ life.

The thought was sobering, and he finally shut up, walking to the academy in dead silence.

They made it back to the academy and Klaus tiredly climbed into the bathtub, filling it up with piping hot water which _had_ to hurt. He didn’t make any move to take off his clothes or shoo ben out of the room. The thought occured to Ben that maybe Klaus _couldn’t_ speak. 

The thought that he might never be able to talk with Klaus again, paired with everything that happened in the last few days, watching Klaus get kidnapped and tortured, desperately searching for him when he vanished, and the relief and fear he felt when Klaus came back was too much, and he burst into tears like a _baby._

Mortified, he cried into his hands, desperately trying to stop himself, but failing. Klaus was the one who had been tortured, Klaus was the one who suffered through whatever horrible place he’d been in the last who knows how long, Klaus had every reason to cry, but Ben didn’t have the right, being only a useless observer to all the terrible things that had happened to his brother.

For a while, there was only the sounds of Ben’s pathetic snivelling, and the light sounds of the water moving as Klaus breathed, when suddenly, he shot up, turning off the tap with the same urgency Klaus grasped at drugs when withdrawal and the ghosts were starting to hit. Momentarily shocked, Ben watched with hitching breaths as Klaus shaked and curled into himself, before he jerked, startled, like he only just realised that Ben was in the room with him. 

“...Ben? Are you crying? No, no, don’t cry. I'm sorry.”

Ben should be apologising, should be happy that Klaus could talk, but all that came out was a gutted, “You _left_ me-e.”

“I know.” Klaus answered, after a pause, as if he was in slow motion.

“You _promised_ you wouldn’t _do_ that.” 

“I know. I'm sorry.” Klaus was speaking too levelly, too quietly, for _what,_ Ben didn’t know, but it pissed him off.

“You promised.” Klaus stayed silent, and waited patiently for Ben to bring himself to stop crying. Despite not offering any support, just the fact that someone could _see_ him and cared about him was enough to convince the tears to stop dripping off his face. By then, the water was long cold.

* * *

He sat, back turned to Klaus as he stared at the book he burned for Ben before he got kidnapped, uncomprehending. Klaus didn’t like it when Ben sat on his bed, because he dripped blood all over it. Usually, he left the room when klaus changed, but he couldn’t stomach the idea of being alone right now. Klaus probably felt the same, since he didn’t even try to get Ben off his bed.

A knock on the door startled them both, and they turned to look at Five, who for the first time since he came back, looked concerned. 

“You okay?”

“No.” Ben muttured, not in the mood for talking to his siblings right now. Klaus didn’t seem to feel the same, however, judging by the way he was looking at Five as if he hadn’t seen him in months. 

“Hey. Yeah, I just… long night.” Long couple of days, more like. Ben hadn’t felt this exhausted in years.

“More than one from the looks of it. I don’t remember the dog tags.” Ben looked at them, surprised. He hadn’t noticed them, preoccupied by the hundred other things that had been going on with Klaus. They were moving too much to be read, but he could tell that they didn’t have Klaus’ name on them.

“Yeah, they belonged to a friend." Klaus immediately confirmed his theory, pulling down his t-shirt.

“What about that new tattoo?” Five probed, never one to give up too quickly.

“You know, I don’t totally remember even getting it? Like I said, it was a long night.” Ben hadn’t had the chance to look at it properly, but he was sure that it wasn’t anything too significant. Klaus impulsively got tattoos all the time, like his stupid hand ones.

“You did it, didn’t you?”

“What are you talking about?” Klaus asked, glancing significantly to Ben, who shrugged. Last he’s seen of Five, he was unconscious with One and Two talking about how cute he was.

“You know, I can recognize the symptoms, Klaus. The jet lag, full body itch. Headache that feels like someone shoved a box of cotton up into your nose and through your brain.” 

“What the hell is he talking about?” He hissed leaning over to look at Klaus. Klaus spared him only a glance before looking back to Five. Ben waited for someone to explain what the hell was happening.

“You gonna tell me about it?”

Klaus groaned, rubbing his face, before staring up at Five defeatedly. “Your pals, when they broke into the house and couldn’t find you, they took me hostage instead.”

“And in return, you stole their briefcase.” Five’s cat-like grin told him that he and Klaus were having a conversation that only the two of them understood, and Ben couldn’t help but feel horribly left out.

“Yeah, I thought there was money in it, or I could pawn it, you know, whatever.” Klaus looked at him, and sighed. Ben wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the meaning behind his glance. “And then I opened it.”

“And the next thing you knew you were… where? Or should I say when?” 

Ben looked back and forth from Klaus to Five. “When? What does he mean? Klaus, what is he saying?”

Klaus groaned, “What does it matter?” he asked, answering both of their questions at once, though Five wasn’t aware of it.

“What does–urgh.” He stopped, facing Klaus for the first time since he started pacing. “Okay, how long were you gone?”

“Almost a year.” Ben’s head was spinning, reeling from having to take in all the new information about Klaus, when he thought he already knew everything about him. A _year._ Klaus had gone without him for a _year._ What did he miss? Did Klaus miss him? Did Klaus deliberately stay for so long to avoid him? Was the reason Klaus was screaming and crying when he got back was because he was so upset that he had to deal with Ben again?

No, of course not, that was stupid. But the tightness in his gut didn’t leave, and he sat there silently, letting the conversation roll over him.

“Hazel and Cha Cha will do whatever they can to get the briefcase. Where is it now?”

“Gone. I destroyed it. Poof.”

“Thank fuck for that." Ben muttered, which made Klaus smile even as Five yelled at him. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

“What do you care?”

“What do I _care?_ I needed it, you moron, so I could get back. I could start over.”

Klaus groaned loudly as he stood up, and Ben was more than happy to leave before Five dropped any more truths that he didn’t want to know. “Where are you going?”

“Interrogation’s over just… just leave.”

* * *

Klaus held back a smile as Five sputtered in rage behind him, while he was happy to see Five again –still just as much of an asshole as he remembered-– he wasn’t going to apologise for destroying that horrible thing, and Ben agreed.

At least he thought so. Ben was being very quiet. 

“Hey Benny, what’s up?”

Ben looked up at him, shocked, as if he didn’t expect to be addressed. He shrugged, “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

Klaus didn’t believe that, but he didn’t have the energy to pull it out of Ben. He was just in one of his sullen moods. Again.

To be honest, ever since he’d gotten back, ~~ever since he’d abandoned Dave,~~ he’d been feeling awkward around Ben. That was a bit of an understatement. He had been agonizing for months, almost a year, about Ben, sure that he was going insane, sure that he wouldn’t ever be the same again, and yet here he was. Only a few hours later, as if Vietnam never happened, as if _Dave_ had never happened. The thought of him made his stomach wrench, and he gripped Dave’s dog tags tight, despite how much his hand ached at the motion, the metal digging into the cuts on his hand. He might have scars, he realised. His GOODBYE tattoo would never be the same again.

“Klaus? Is your hand okay?”

He blinked, "Hm? What?” 

“You’ve been staring at your hand for a while.”

Indeed he has. He put his hand down, but didn’t let go of the tags. He had thought, naively, that once he got back everything would more or less go back to normal. Sure he would miss Dave, but he would get over it. He hadn’t anticipated Dave dying, or how much that would hurt. Death had always been something numb to him, being constantly surrounded by it. He had lost some good friends to the streets, and hadn’t felt much of anything, except something like happiness or maybe relief, when they didn’t come back as a ghost. He had thought that Ben would be the most painful death he would ever have to go through.

But maybe he overestimated how numb inside he was. Or maybe Dave had thawed him out, forcing him to feel all these new emotions and love no matter how much it hurt, because he believed that Klaus was strong enough to feel, _deserved_ to feel.

Well, Dave was fucking wrong, Klaus wasn’t strong, and the only thing he deserved to feel was the buzz of alchohol and the weightlessness of a high. 

He found one of his coats, and dug through its pockets, quickly rewarded with a handful of pills. He downed them, ignoring Ben’s alarmed “Klaus!” and set off downstairs to the living room. Pogo wouldn't mind if he stole dad’s vodka. Unwatered. 

Diego was also in the living room, scrolling through something on an iPhone like an old man. As far as Klaus was aware, Diego didn’t have an iPhone, it was this whole thing with his ex and his landlord, but he didn’t care to ask, he just wanted all these feelings to go away. He just wanted to see Dave again. 

“Hey! Klaus!” Diego stood up, but Klaus expertly dodged him to duck behind the bar, looking for a drink that would absolutely ruin him. Diego glared at him from over the counter. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Oh, you know, getting kidnapped, getting tortured, fighting in the Vietnam War.”

“Right, sure. Now where have you actually been?”

“I followed him around when you were gone.” Ben piped up, “He…” he glanced up at Diego, something angry in his gaze that made Klaus wonder what exactly Diego had done to piss Ben off. “His ex-girlfriend thought she found you, and when she didn’t, Diego said that you were probably out getting high.”

The new piece of knowledge made even more emotions stir up in his gut, and he twisted open the bottle cap of some vodka and threw his head back, taking a shot straight from the bottle.

“Whoa, Klaus!” The bottle was snatched out of his hands, and he groaned, standing up to face Diego. “What the hell is going on with you?”

“Like you’d care,” he muttered, snatching the bottle back and taking another drink, just a sip this time. It was working its magic on him remarkably fast, his head was already starting to feel light and buzzy, but he still missed Dave, so clearly it wasn’t enough. Out of nowhere, an idea popped into his head. “Hey, can you give me a ride?”

“What, no I’m not giving you a–”

“Okay, great, I’ll just get my things, two minutes.”

* * *

Diego glanced over at Klaus sitting next to him, where he was slumped in the passenger seat. Although Klaus had basically forced him to give him a ride, he didn’t actually give Diego any place to go, just quietly sipped his vodka like it was lemonade. It was freaky, and nothing like Diego was used to from his brother. Klaus was supposed to be the fun one, the one who didn’t really care about anything, and seeing him as anything else disturbed him.

Biting the bullet, he nodded towards Klaus, “You okay?”

Klaus took another sip, wincing at the taste. “Wow. This is a first. My brother Klaus is silent. Last time you were this quiet, we were twelve. You ran down the stairs wearing mom’s heels, tripped over, and broke your jaw, remember? How long was it wired shut again?”

“Eight weeks.” Diego held back a smile. That got something out of him, at least.

“Eight glorious weeks of bliss.” That wasn’t the right thing to say, apparently. Klaus shifted, as if he was uncomfortable, but Diego had long stopped thinking that Klaus could ever feel something as trivial as _discomfort._

“Shut up, it wasn’t like he was wrong–” Klaus hissed, to one of his drunken hallucinations, probably, and sat up, “Hey, just–just drop me off here.”

Diego looked at him in confusion, and pulled over to some random vetern bar. Why the hell would Klaus wanna go here?

“You sure you’re okay, man?” He called after Klaus, getting a door shut in his face in response. Typical. Klaus had been acting weird ever since he got back. When Patch had told him that she’d found his brother, he was– well, he wasn’t sure that he’d say he was _worried_ , she had probably just found him high out of his mind in one of the motel rooms, but he was definitely concerned. Especially when she wasn’t at the receptionist like she said. It was just like her to rush ahead without waiting for backup and despite it all, he felt something that someone else would call fondness, and he would call irritation.

Still, she could have gotten seriously hurt, possibly even died. It was lucky that she didn’t find anything, but the thought of something like this happening again, and she wasn’t so lucky, had finally convinced him to buy an iPhone and figure out how the hell it worked so she could reliably call him for backup if she ever needed it.

Which was how he knew that Klaus wasn’t his usual self when he finally _did_ turn up and didn’t immediately mock him for his lack of technology proficiency despite being a millenial. As usual, worrying about Klaus was going to lead him into some weird ass situations with no explanation given, or even _why_ he was acting out. 

“Weirdo,” he scoffed, turning his brake off to park somewhere else so he could see what the hell Klaus was doing, then had to fight off a sudden shudder.

Car parked, and out of the rain, he entered the bar, quickly finding Klaus crying in front of a memorial of sorts, kissing something in his hand. Yep. Weird ass situations.

“Urgh.” Klaus groaned when he put a hand on his shoulder, “Just go away, please.”

“Not until you talk to me.”

Klaus sniffled and wiped his eyes, and that was wrong, Klaus never cried, especially over wars that happened twenty years before he was born. “Is that a threat? You threatening me?”

“Hey guys,” Some old guy from behind them spoke up, and Diego immediately felt his muscles tense in response. He could see trouble coming from miles away, and this guy had it written all over him. “This bar? It’s for vets only.”

And Diego was about to apologise, was about to drag Klaus out of there so he could figure out what Klaus had taken to make him act like this, when the dumbass suddenly spoke up, “I _am_ a vet.”

“Really?” The man chuckled, looking at the other bar patrons, clearly asking them to get in on this joke. “Where’d you serve?”

“None of your business.” Klaus snapped back.

“You got balls, comin’ in here, pretending you’re one of us.”

“Oh, I have every right to be here, just like you." Klaus finally turned to face the veteran, voice almost serenely calm. “Asshole.”

Shit, what the hell was Klaus on? If he let him carry on like this, there was definitely going to be a fight, and Diego didn’t think that it would be one that Klaus could win. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, hey. Slow down marine." He held out a hand, stopping the man from advancing any further. “All right? My brother’s just had a few too many. Let’s just call it a day, all go on our own way.”

The man scowled, deliberating. “Sure thing.”

“Thank you.” He sighed, starting to turn to Klaus to convince him to leave, “Klaus–”

“As long as you apologise.” Klaus simply giggled, oblivious, or uncaring of the fight that was _this_ close to breaking out, and Diego valiantly held back from slapping him on the head as he turned to the veteran. “Fine. I'm sorry. He’s sorry. We’re all sorry.” He stared at the man’s face, waiting for a response. “So… are we good?”

“I wanna hear _him_ say it,” The man pointed at Klaus to drive his point home, and Diego groaned internally. Klaus would half-ass it, or not even try and only piss off the man more.

“Hey, man i’m just trying to–”

“No, no. He’s right, Diego. He’s right, he’s right.” Diego stared at him apprehensively, as his brother turned to face the man. Since this was Klaus literally anything was about to happen. “I’d like to apologise, that you… are depriving some village of their _idiot!”_

The man swung out an arm to punch Klaus, which he quickly dodged and retaliated by headbutting him. As Klaus fell down, Diego stumbled forward, punching the first few men that leapt at him. Everything became a blur of dull pain and punches after that, they both easily fell back into the routine of when they were children, fighting bad guys, saving lives, being heroes.

The next thing he became completely aware of was Klaus giggling his ass off as the bar owner yelled at them to not come back. He groaned as Klaus elbowed a particularly sore bruise, and guided him back into the car, sighing when Klaus let out a loud laugh.

“You’ve got a big mouth, you know that?”

“Oh, wow, what a truly shocking revelation, Diego,” Klaus muttered, rolling a blunt. The sight pissed Diego off more than it should have, after acting weird all day to the point of starting an honest to god fight when he usually avoided conflict like it gave him hives. And now he was rolling a blunt as if nothing had happened, as if everything was normal.

“Everything’s a joke to you, isn’t it? Would you stop it?!” He snatched the blunt out of Klaus’ hands and ignored him when he thumped his fists on his thighs like he was a toddler who got a snack taken away, which to be honest, was a lot like how looking after Klaus felt. “Why are you putting this shit in your body?”

Klaus blew a raspberry in response. Well, if he was gonna act like a toddler, he was going to get treated like a toddler. “Hey, check this out, hm?” He slapped his stomach, proud of the hard muscles his hand encountered. That was the result of healthy eating and the gym. “My body is a temple. All that shit you do, it’s just weakness.”

“Oh, wow, beautiful. Well, weakness feels good.” Klaus pulled another blunt out of his pocket, and that was the final straw. 

“What the hell’s going on with you? Huh?” he yelled, slapping him upside his head.

“Don’t hit me asshole!”

“Don’t tell me everything is all alright because I saw you in there, you were crying like a baby!”

“Because I lost someone!” He stared. Klaus didn’t seem to be making it up this time, he looked genuinely upset, and Diego didn’t quite know what to do with that. “I lost someone. The only–” he sighed, looking out of the window, “The only person I’ve ever truly loved more than myself.”

Shit. Was that where he was? He felt guilty all of a sudden for assuming he was out getting high. Klaus had to deal with two funerals in a week instead of one. Though, granted, dad’s funeral was less that and more of a celebration.

“Cheers." Klaus smiled and popped a pill.

The last death he’d experienced that had hurt was Ben, and his heart clenched. If Klaus’ someone’s death hurt as half as much as Ben's did, then he guessed he couldn't blame Klaus for going a little off the rails. “...Well, you’re luckier than most. When _you_ lose someone, at least you can see them whenever you want.”

Klaus smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile, or even a sad one. It was tinged with melancholy, like someone who had to keep a sad secret. Huffing out what someone could call a laugh, he looked into the empty back seat. “Yeah. I am.”


	14. Chapter 14

Despite showcasing how much he _didn’t_ understand Klaus’ powers, Diego had raised a magnificent point. He actually felt pretty stupid for not thinking of it sooner. He could see the dead, Dave was dead, ergo, he could see Dave again. All he needed to do was get sober.

Diego dropped him off back home and he immediately went to his room, gathering the like, one stash of drugs he’d placed in the bathroom before being zapped off to Vietnam. Hazel and Cha Cha had destroyed most of his reserves.

He hesitated, looking at the pills and weed and the lone mini bottle of alcohol laying innocently on the ground before him. Did he really want to do this? Especially since the last time he’d gotten truly sober was when dad kidnapped him and forced him to get clean so he could kill Klaus in a variety of horrible and traumatising ways. 

Aside from the memories that he wouldn’t be able to use drugs to keep away, he was also painfully aware that seeing ghosts again wasn’t the only thing that would come with getting sober.

He still wasn’t sure how he escaped, just that it was just a blur of screaming and fear and _something_ that felt like power surrounding him, making him strong, but he knew he must be misremembering, because everyone knew that Number Four wasn’t strong. 

Still, he had enough pieces of the puzzle to conclude that… _other_ things might happen if he got sober. Things that came with very, very bad memories. He stared at his tiny stash.

“...Klaus? Are you okay?”

It was worth it. It was worth it for Dave, and if he thought about it anymore he was going to chicken out. Easily enough, he gathered up all of his drugs in his tank top. Ignoring Ben's confusion, he successfully navigated to the bathroom without running into any of his siblings, thank god, and dropped it all in front of the toilet. “Klaus, what are you doing? Are you going to try to overdose?”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Why else would you bring your stash...here?” Ben looked worried, scared, and Klaus felt a little pang of guilt when he realised that it hadn’t even crossed Ben’s mind that he wanted to get sober. A pang of guilt that he couldn’t smoke away, and he would have to get used to that.

“Ben,” He leaned forward, grinning madly like he was telling a secret, Ben cautiously leaned forward as well. “I'm getting sober.”

Of all the emotions he’d expected to cross Ben’s face, relief or joy, disbelief and confusion was not one of them. “What? Why?”

Klaus tilted his head, “What do you mean, why? Isn’t this what you’ve always wanted?”

“Well–yeah, but–” Ben floundered, searching for words to articulate with, and Klaus felt the smile slowly slip off his face. “Why _now?_ I’ve been asking you to get sober for years, but you never listened. What changed your mind?”

“Oh, I'm getting sober so I can see Dave.” He’d thought that much was obvious, but apparently not, as the confusion on Ben’s blood-streaked face only increased.

“Who?” He asked, and he _had_ to be joking.

“Y’know, Dave! The guy I fell in love with in Vietnam? The reason I went into that bar in the first place? Didn’t I tell you?”

“No!” Ben exploded, and though he knew that Ben couldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t, he couldn’t help but shrink back anyway. A blood-covered, gory teen yelling at you was _scary,_ no matter how desensitized you were to it. “You haven't told me anything! All I know is that you spent a year without me in some warzone and now I'm hearing that you want to get sober for some random guy you met in Vietnam?”

Klaus bristled, “Dave isn’t some random guy.”

“He is to me! You’ve been so different since you came back, you’re all sad, you’re picking fights, you’re basically a different person! The old you would have never done this for anyone!”

“No, I haven't, I’m the same as I've always been! And Dave, he– he’s _worth_ it, okay?”

“But I'm not?”

The hurt in Ben’s voice stopped him, and for the first time since they started fighting he realised that Ben was _crying._ Really crying, hard and long enough to clear away most of the blood coating his cheeks. He almost looked alive. Alive and abandoned. Klaus didn’t say anything.

Ben scoffed, or was it a sob? And he left, walking through the door to who knows where. _Guilt,_ pure and raw guilt flooded his system, and he had to throw as much of his stash as he could hold with his hands and flush it down the toilet, to prevent himself from _making_ the guilt go away. 

Tears slipped down his face, and he wiped it away before it could drip onto the floor. 

The next few minutes was composed of slowly emptying the baggies of pills and pouring the mini bottles of alcohol down the toilet. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done, wanting drugs more than ever before, not just to shut the ghosts up, but to silence the wave after wave of _feeling_ that was drowning him.

But somehow, he held out, because he wanted to see Dave again, and that was more important than his stupid emotions.

Someone at the door knocked. “Busy,” he croaked out, wiping away the remaining tears, the door opened anyway.

“Oh, good you’re up,” Mr-can’t-take-a-hint said. “We need to talk, you, me and the others. So meet me in the living room like, now-ish.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a real rager, but my schedule’s already chock-full.”

“Yeah, no time for that,” Luther said as if he was just talking about the weather. “The world's ending in three days.”

He left, without saying another word, and without closing the door.

“Great," He murmured to no one in particular, because Ben was apparently avoiding him now. “Just what I need to get sober. An apocalypse. Great.”

* * *

After the not-so-great meeting, he knew that he was definitely going into withdrawal, now. His head was pounding, his skin was starting to prickle with ants, crawling up and down his whole body. But worst of all, the ghosts were coming back. He could see them, out of the corner of his eyes, hear their far away screams. He knew all too well that they were gonna get closer and closer and more and more horrible and demanding the longer he went on like this, and he was going to give in. He knew, without a doubt, that he was going to give in as soon as the screams got too loud. And so far, Ben refused to act as a buffer.

He hadn’t anticipated Ben being so upset, he had thought that he would be happy, but looking back, he _guessed_ he could see how Ben could be angry. He had been trying to get him sober for years, and Klaus never really told him about where he’d been. Ever since Klaus got over himself and talked to him as a ghost, Ben had never been left out of any part of Klaus’ life, except for the parts he didn’t want to know. He knew most of Klaus’ secrets, and probably knew him better than anyone else he’d ever loved did, even Dave. 

So he supposed that it would be disorientating when that suddenly wasn’t true. When Klaus had left as Ben's brother and returned as a stranger. Even worse, appeared to value that stranger over Ben.

That wasn’t true, that would never be true. Sure, Klaus loved Dave so much it ached, but in his mind, Ben always came first. It would have taken him a while, and he would have been wracked with guilt, but even if Dave hadn't died, he would’ve come back. Maybe even figure out a way where Dave could come back as well, without the commission and Five hunting down their asses. 

And the whole drug thing, well, Klaus could see Ben just fine without the harder drugs, and if he had a way of finding Dave and keep his drugs, he would do it in a heartbeat. But he knew that he needed the full force of his powers to find him after Dave had been dead for fifty years, and because of that, he needed to be sober. If Ben and Dave had switched places, and Klaus needed to be fully sober to see his brother, didn’t he know that Klaus would do it in a heartbeat? 

He must know, because Klaus had no idea how to articulate all this to Ben, probably couldn’t even chase him down to begin with. 

He scowled. He was sure Ben knew, he was just having one of his teenage mood swings. Right now, Klaus needed to focus on what was important at that moment in time. Getting sober. After a short little search in his room, he quickly located a piece of rope, carrying it down to the living room, in search of someone living to tie him up through the worst of his withdrawal symptoms.

Ah, there he was, the great big leader himself! “Luther! Luther you need to tie me up so i can–” He slowed, taking in what he was seeing. “...Are you drinking?” Luther took another sip, stumbling a little, not even trying to hide his intoxication, and wow! Klaus never thought he’d see the day! “Holy shi–” He burst out laughing. “Holy shit, you’re drunk! And you busted into dad’s liquor cabinet, he’s gonna be so pissed!”

He grinned, excited to see what hanging out with a drunk Luther would be like, only for it to slip off his face as he took in his brother’s appearance. Haggard, exhausted, with something dangerous in his eyes that Klaus had never seen before. “Hey, are you okay–”

“Get him,” Luther interrupted. “Dad. Do it, now.”

He sighed, heart sinking. Of course this is what Luther was worried about. “I told you already, all right? I–I can’t-” He choked as Luther suddenly grabbed him by the throat, and Luther must be possessed, or have been replaced by a doppelganger or something because the real Luther wouldn't _do_ this.

“Little shit!” He snarled, and there was so much venom in his voice, that it was impossible for him to be anyone but his brother, only someone who grew up with him would know to hate him so much. He choked, gasping for air as Luther slammed him against a pillar, smacking his arm as if that would make Luther let go.

“Please, I–” Without warning, Luther dropped him to the floor, and he coughed, desperately trying to gasp in air. Holding his neck as if Reginald had cut his throat all over again. And of course, because the universe hated him, Ben chose that moment to walk in.

“What the– what happened? Did Luther do this to you? Luther!” That last one was directed at their brother, and Klaus automatically echoed him, used to speaking for Ben. He ignored them, stalking away with his big back turned.

“Luther!” He tried again. “Of course I tried! Alright? God knows, I've tried, but he is as he was in life, he’s a stubborn prick!”

“He needs to answer to me for what he did. For sending me up there.” He pointed at the ceiling, and Klaus could only assume he was talking about the moon. “I sacrificed everything for him, my entire life! I never left this house, I never had friends. And for what? For nothing.”

“Oh, no, no no no.” Klaus murmured, mumbling random reassurances to get Luther to sit down and stop being scary, ignoring Ben’s anxious presence, asking him _what’s happening, why is he so mad, Klaus, get Allison, or Diego, or anyone. Don’t deal with this on your own._ Klaus couldn’t do that, so he just made empty promises, watching Luther slump on the couch. “I–I could try again, I mean, I can’t promise I'm clean enough but just–”

Luther threw back his head, quickly downing a whole glass of alcohol as Klaus admonished him, painfully aware of the hypocrisy. “That’s– that’s enough of that. Enough of that, come on.” He pulled Luthers’ hand down, away from his face, but the glass was already empty. “Look just– chin up there, big guy.”

Luther stared at him, and sighed. “It’s okay. Just go.”

Klaus glanced at Ben, who looked incredibly unsure, and decided to take Ben’s earlier advice. “Why–why don’t we find the others? I’m sure Allison could help. She’s your best buddy right? Just like me and Be–D–Diego.”

Luther shook his head, too deep in his own misery to not notice Klaus choking on the rumour, ”I don't want her. I don’t want them to see me like this. Besides I– you know, I'd just hold them back, what they’re doing is too important.”

He stared at Luther for a second, taken off guard. Luther had always seemed like the infallible, strong Number One. Even in his moments of weakness, he had always lashed out, hiding his emotions in anger. Take Ben’s death for example, Klaus had spent a good year thinking that Luther hated him, when he was just in shock, and Klaus was the closest scapegoat. Klaus was always the scapegoat.

“What are you talking about?” He finally said, “You’re our Number One remember? ‘O captain! My captain!’” Luther started laughing at that little reference, he always did like poetry. ”Yeah! Remember?” Klaus gladly laughed with him, sitting down so his shaky legs wouldn’t have to hold him up anymore. Ben looked apprehensive, but slowly calming down a bit. Good, he wouldn’t have to deal with two upset brothers at once.

He turned his attention back to Luther, and he was still laughing. “Uh, yeah! Right?” He chuckled awkwardly, the weak grin slipping off his face when he realised that Luther was crying, sobbing, in fact. He slid down until his head landed on Klaus’ shoulder, and he hesitantly brought his hand up to pat his shoulder. Was this how normal people comforted each other?

“You know, Diego was right.” Luther sighed, pulling his head back and staring miserably at Klaus’ shoulder. “Dad sent me up to the moon, because he couldn’t stand the sight of this. Of what… of what he did to me. Of what I've become.”

“No, no, no, no, that’s not– that’s not–” He didn’t fully understand what Luther was talking about, but he had an idea. He saw Luther's skin when he and Diego fought at the funeral and had heard the repeated jabs the others made. He knew what dad could do, in terms of body modification- that time Allison lost her arm on a mission and dad made her a new, fleshy one as if it were nothing, came to mind. “Damn it, dad was such an asshole, right to the end.”

He sighed and turned to Luther, “You know if, if there’s anything else that I can do, or–”

“I wanna be like you.” Klaus stared at him, not understanding until, “I wanna do whatever it is that you–”

“No, no no no. You don’t. No. Absolutely not.” One addict in the family was bad enough, they didn’t need two, and Klaus would never forgive himself if he was the cause of his brother’s descent into drug addiction.

“Come on, Klaus. Cause you...you always seem so carefree, and I just need it, I, I wanna be Number Four.”

“Trust me, trust me.” He said, as seriously as he could, desperately looking back to any time that his lifestyle might have been seen as _desirable._ Sure, he acted like he was carefree, but they didn’t really think that he was, right? “You _don’t_ want that. You don’t want that. What you need is just… just lay down, sleep it off. You’ll feel better in the morning, okay?” That was a complete lie, but hopefully, Luther would be more rational, if he had any luck.

“Fine. I'll go by myself.”

“What? No.” He watched in horror as Luther stood up, drunkenly making his way to the door. “No, no, no, Luther!”

He ran up to Luther as fast as he could, running through Ben in the process, but that didn’t matter. “Luther, I can’t let you–”

The air was knocked out of his lungs as Luther pushed him, almost throwing him to the side, landing hard on the ground. The door slammed before he could even get up. “Oh, shit.”

Ben looked at him, concernedly glancing at the door. He didn’t seem to have minded that Klaus ran through him, but he apologised anyway. “Sorry, Ben.” And if Ben knew him, he would hear what he was really apologizing for.

Ben looked away, and licked away some of the blood that had gotten into his mouth. Klaus had always thought that was funny, like he was a gecko or something. A sad grin, and Ben looked back, looking more tired than Klaus had seen him for a while. “It’s okay.”

He smiled, then groaned, letting his head fall back. “We have to go get him back don’t we?” He _really_ didn’t want to, the ants had already started to burrow under his skin. He picked at them, as if that would help.

“Yeah, we do.”


	15. Chapter 15

Each step was reverberating in his skull, and there weren’t ants on his skin anymore, they had been set on fire. Ben was speaking to him in low tones, but they faded out. The only thing in the world was him and his ants. And Luther. Right, right, he still needed to find Luther. Luther, who was the size of a horse, and yet still managed to evade them.

Ben murmured something else, something that might have been support, declarations of how much Luther needed him, and he groaned as sudden nausea hit him, bending over. “I just... Oh, I'm just. Urgh, this is... this is pointless.” He threw out his arms at Ben, who looked disapproving, arms crossed and everything. “I’m going home, I, I have to go home, I’m so, I'm so sick.”

He turned around, and stopped when Ben stood in front of him, and normally Klaus would be more gentle with him, normally he would scoff and walk around Ben, but he felt like shit, and he was sore and he felt _cruel,_ so he laughed instead, ignoring the rush of guilt that came with Ben’s hurt face. “You know I could just walk through you, right?”

He stepped forward, ready to prove his point, but Ben quickly jumped out of his way. He sighed. “Come onnn, you can’t still be mad at me. I apologised earlier!”

“That was for running through me.”

“But you didn’t catch the underlining second meaning? For shame! What happened to our twin telepathy?”

“I accepted the first apology, but not the second one, so it’s _your_ telepathy that needs some tuning. And I know what you’re doing.”

He laughed, staring at the blood that was dripping off Ben onto the concrete ground instead of his face, because he knew that if he did, he would give in to whatever Ben wanted him to do. Those baby browns were _lethal._ “Oh, really? What, pray tell, am I doing then, oh Klaus-master?”

“You’re acting like an asshole so I won’t make you do this.” 

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“Well,” He turned away, and started walking back home again. A nap sounded like just what the doctor ordered. “Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do then, Benny-boy.”

“You know,” His voice was suddenly so loud and wobbly, as if he was holding back tears. It broke through Klaus' shield of crumminess, and he stopped dead in his tracks. “I liked you better when you were high.”

However heartbreaking that was to hear, even if he deserved it, it still made him huff out a laugh. “Wow, I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

Ben ignored him, stepping up close and not letting Klaus look away. God, why was Ben so much harder to look at sober? “Help Luther.”

“He could be anywhere right now, doing god knows what. You know what? This is probably a good thing, the big guy needs a life, and tonight he’s out there experiencing the real world!”

“He’s not ready for it!”

“Well, who is? Was I? Were _you_?” Ben's face immediately made him backtrack, “Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry. I know you weren’t ready to have... _that_ happen to you at a young age.” The nausea worsened and he leaned forward, holding back vomit. “Oh, sobriety isn’t easy.” He looked up at Ben's disapproving face. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? It’s not my responsibility, I didn't sign up to save you or him!”

“You’re right, you didn’t. Neither did I, but I still saved you.” He stared at him, the moments where Ben was willing to talk about his death were so few and far between that Klaus found himself holding his breath. “And if our places were reversed, I _know_ that there would be nothing in this world that would stop you from saving me. The same goes for the others, we protect each other.”

And there were many things that Klaus wanted to say to that, _Would you call him choking me out protecting? Allison rumouring me? Did you really save me, or did I kill you?_ But Ben wouldn’t let him break eye contact, genuinely _mad_ at him like he hadn’t been in years.

“Damn it…”

* * *

“We’ve been to seven bars, three strip joints which I _told you he wouldn't be at_ , and a laundromat. Luther’s not here, so can we go home now?”

“Would you give up on me?”

“Urggh.” He was seriously not a good influence on Ben if he was manipulating him like this. Did he do that when he was alive? He only vaguely remembered his life from sixteen onwards, with only patchy memories of the academy, so he couldn’t really say for sure. They turned a corner, and met with giggly women coming out of a rave.

“That’s the biggest hairy guy i’ve ever seen.” A woman in a frou-frou skirt laughed to her friend as they passed them, and Klaus looked at Ben, imploring. _Please don’t make me do this._ Ben responded with the earnest look he had adopted for the night. _You have to, he’s our brother._ The eyebrows softened a little bit. _Don’t worry, I’ll be there with you the whole time._ Ben, despite what he liked to think, was awful when ‘supporting’ him through being sober, but he supposed it was the thought that counted.

The moment they stepped in, his headache went from eleven to a hundred. The lights, the dancing people, the noise, would have spelled out a great night for Klaus on literally any other day. God, Luther better be in here, or else this would all be for nothing.

He stumbled forwards, plugging his ears, as he desperately scanned past the flashing multicoloured, lights for his oversized brother. No luck.

God, there were so many people, all dancing, all moving, each touch, however accidental, set the ants aflame, and he couldn’t even rub his skin to calm them down, lest he worsen his headache by removing his hands from his ears. “God, this is torture!” He yelled.

“I can’t hear you!” Ben yelled back, a perfect example of his wonderful ‘support.’ He sighed. Ten more steps and he was out of here, or else he was in real danger of puking. “Whoa!” Ben exclaimed, and he looked to see what had shocked Ben. Once he saw it, he froze, hands drifting downwards as he tried to process just _what_ he was seeing.

“Holy shit.”

There was Luther, shirtless, –and _wow,_ Diego wasn’t kidding when he said that he looked like a monkey now– was dancing as if he didn’t have a care in the world, the biggest grin Klaus had ever seen him sport plastered on his face.

“Do you think he knows?” He asked Ben. Luther had always seemed so _ashamed_ of what was under his coat, and to see him suddenly flaunt it was disorinating.

“I don’t think he cares!”

“Come on!” He pushed past the swarm of dancing bodies, similar to the ghosts, only they could touch him and were more interested in themselves than him, thank god. “Luther!” He stared at him like Klaus had spoken another language, so Klaus repeated himself, just in case he forgot who he was for a second. “Luther!”

His face split into an even more giant grin, “Brother!” And–well, at least Klaus could say that someone had been happy to see him he thought, as Luther picked him up and actually squeezed him hard enough that he could feel some bones popping, loud enough that Ben could hear it over the music, judging by his grossed out face.

Luther dropped him, holding tight enough onto his arm that Klaus was sure it would bruise, “Isn’t this amazing?!”

“Yeah. We need to get you home, come on.”

“Home? This is my home now!” A woman suddenly appeared out of nowhere, cozying up to his brother.

“Huge fans of the furries,” She purred, and this would be the funniest thing that has ever happened to Klaus, if he only wasn’t going through withdrawal.

“See?” Luther flashed him a big grin, starting to dance with her. He suddenly leaned forward, forcing Klaus to stumble back as he shoved a pill in his face, and _Jesus Christ,_ god or the little girl or whatever was really testing his willpower today. “I’ve never felt so alive! But I'm so thirsty!”

“Yeah.” He muttered, and bit his lip as a huge wave of _want_ swept over him, and before he even realised what his limbs were doing, the pill was sailing over the crowd, disappearing from sight.

“Why’d you do that?”

“I have no idea!” And he truly didn’t, that was definitely the first time he’d been offered a pill and didn’t immediately shove it into his mouth. A shudder went through him, and he turned to realize that Ben had given him his own version of a shoulder bump.

He beamed at him. “Good job!” But Ben had spoken too early, he knew he did, he was horribly regretting throwing the pill away when it could have taken him away from the lights so painful it felt like it was drilling into his skull, and music so loud, it was changing his heart rhythm. He stared at the mass of bodies dancing where he threw the pill.

Were they dancers at a rave, or the dead soldiers in the Vietnam war? It was getting hard to tell, all he knew was that they were _here_ and they were _loud._ Bullets were whistling through the air past him and he could feel the sound in his chest as a bomb exploded behind him. Did it really matter if the ghosts wanted him or not? All that mattered was that the only way to make it all better was to get _high._

He was stumbling, he was running away from the crowd, surely in a war– rave like this he could get a hold of drugs, anything, to escape. The cold firmness of the concrete against his back calmed him, and allowed him enough safety to sob, just for a moment. He whimpered, hands glued to his ears, horribly disorientated by the shifting scenes of the war and the rave.

There was so much noise, so many ghosts, that he just wanted to die, just to get away from them for a little while. Somehow amongst all the noise and torture, a worried voice, a scared voice, broke through, talking in low tones, disrupting the scene around him. He peeled his eyes open, only to squeeze them shut when he caught sight of Ben. But it was fine, he was just surprised, and he forced his eyelids open again, but this time he didn’t see Ben, he saw a little pill lying on the ground, narrowly avoiding getting stepped on.

That was it, that was all he needed, just one pill so that everything would make _sense_ again. It would be fine. He needed it. Before he was even fully aware of what was happening, his limbs had pulled him up, moving on his elbows and knees over to the pill, to safety.

Crawling, he dodged the dancing feet of the ravers, no- the soldiers. He was crawling in a trench and hoping that none of the running soldiers stepped on him. Why was he crawling?

_“Go! Go! Go!”_

There were bullets flying over his head again, the ground shook as bombs hit. The battle had started back up and he needed to get to Dave, that’s why he was crawling, Dave was lying there, bleeding, dying. Dave needed him.

_“Help! We need a medic here!”_

_“Dave!”_

He reached him, he reached his Dave. Shakily grabbing him by the shoulder, he turned him onto his back, taking in his blank eyes, blood slowly trickling out of his mouth. He didn’t try to stop the bleeding, Dave was dead, that he knew with a surprising amount of certainty, but he wasn’t upset, he just wanted to see him again, just wanted to kiss him.

Cradling his face, he leaned in, and his lips met the cool metal of Dave's tags. Where was Dave? He just wanted Dave. He sobbed into his hands, missing Dave so fiercely it cut into him, cutting him open, killing him. 

He didn’t mind, it meant that he could see Dave again.

“Klaus?” Ben spoke, uncertain, and wait, why was Ben here? Ben wasn’t in Vietnam, Klaus had abandoned him. Oh, the pill. The pill! That's why he was here, he found a pill.

He leapt up, kissing the pill and ignoring Ben's strange expression in the background, but, wait. There was a man, and he looked kind of familiar. Was he one of Klaus’ ex's? But aside from nodding at him, he didn’t seem to be that interested in him, he was walking away, pushing people out of his path.

Two stooges walked behind him, appearing out of nowhere, and he was walking to– Luther?

“Oh, shit. Klaus, I think that’s his girlfriend, you have to help him.”

And despite how much of an asshole Luther had been to him today, he wasn’t about to let his brother get beat up when he was hurting and vulnerable, even if his powers meant that he would probably effortlessly win, he wasn’t in a state to fight. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he tossed the pill to the side, rushing towards his brother.

“Luther!” He jumped onto the man, hoping to distract him for long enough that Luther would be able to get away, or at least know that a fight was coming. 

“Get him off me, guys!”

“Luther!” He yelled, managing to catch a glimpse of him, dancing with the girl with not a care in the world. “Luther, help! Ow!” he cried as he was thrown off, skull hitting the concrete ground with a _crack._

Everything went grey.

* * *

Grey, he was in the grey place again. Something like panic tried to reach him, but it was held back, with something almost like a wall. It was very peaceful here.

Getting up, there was no pain like there should have been. No limbs protesting after years of sleeping on the streets, no headache from where he’d hit it earlier. After so long avoiding this place to the best of his ability, he had forgotten how nice it actually was. Screw dad for ruining this for him.

Well, the girl was going to come and send him back any moment now, so he might as well enjoy it while he can. He stretched his arms above his head, groaning at the relief it gave him until he caught sight of something on the street ahead of him.

“Oh! Yoo hoo!” He called out, walking to the girl on the bike, almost grinning at her face. She clearly didn’t want him here. “Hello.”

“It’s been a while. Almost didn’t see you. You blend right in here, so pale and all. Don’t they have any sun down there?”

“Down there?” Despite all the times he’d been here, he never really thought about where here was. He’d just assumed that this was one of his recurring dreams that always came around when he died. The girl had never made any reference to the real world before, aside from riddles that he never understood. But now that he thought about it, he wondered how he had never noticed it before. “Where am I?”

“Where do you think?”

“I–I’m not sure.” Was this the place ghosts went when they were… not ghosts? There was no way this could be heaven or anything. Where was the giant man welcoming him to the gates? Where were the singing angels? “I’m agnostic, so.”

“Doesn't really matter. You can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” Regardless of whether this was heaven or not, this was the most peaceful he had been, in like… ever. His whole life. He didn’t want to give this up. “You let me stay those times before.”

“I didn't. You left on your own. And to be blunt, I don’t really like you all that much.”

“Hm. Yeah, me neither. But, wait a minute, if you’re God, aren’t you supposed to love all of us?”

“What’s a ‘God’?” The word sounded forgien in the girls’ mouth, as if she was trying it out for the first time. Klaus stayed silent. “Whatever God is, it’s not me. I made you so I can pick and choose. And you don’t rub me the right way.”

“Wait. So you _made_ us? You _made_ me?”

“Well, I made everything else, so I must’ve made you. Why? Did you have another idea?”

He shrugged, “Maybe. A couple. I don’t know.” He’d mostly imagined ‘heaven’ or whatever this place was as emptiness. Nothing. It seemed like the most peaceful anything could get, and heaven was all about peace, right? The idea of a god, or someone like the girl, had never really crossed his mind.

The girl/god was unsympathetic, “Well, then keep them to yourself. Time is flying, so hurry up. He’s waiting for you.” She pointed to a little hut hiding behind the trees that he hadn't noticed before.

“Who is?” He asked, but even if she gave an answer, he doubted he would have heard it over his heart beating loudly in his chest. Shit, if this was heaven then Dave must be here, Dave must be waiting for him! “Dave?”

She looked at him, and that was enough of an answer for Klaus, and before he knew it, he was running, his feet taking him closer and closer to _him_. “Dave! Dave!”

He threw open the door, stumbling into a… a hair salon? He called out into the empty room, “Dave?” No answer. The building was much bigger than it looked on the outside, and if Ben was here, he would make an irritating TARDIS reference. The hair salon was sitting right on the cusp of modern and old fashioned. If Klaus had to pinpoint it, he’d say it was from the sixties, or seventies, which, he supposed if Dave was here, made sense. But the chairs looked like they came from Sweeney Todd, and there were framed pictures of his father and siblings high on the walls, Dave replacing where Klaus should be. He wondered if that was some bullshit metaphor for something.

With nothing to do but wait, he sat on one of the chairs, and leaned his head against the headrest. Out of nowhere, a pair of hands tied a hairdresser’s cape around his neck, and placed a wet towel over his face, and if he was alive, he would rip it off, it made him far too vulnerable to anyone who wanted to hurt him, especially without Ben, but the place kept a forced sense of calmness on him. It was almost like being drugged.

Still, it felt nice, and he tried to enjoy it, letting whoever was behind him turn his chair around to face the mirror.

“What in god’s name took you so long?” The harsh voice made ice flood in his veins, even through heaven’s peaceful drug, and he slowly pulled the towel off his face.

“Dad.”

“I expected my son who can conjure the dead to have brought me forth days ago.” He snapped, not even surprised to see him, just disappointed as always. Considering the last time he’d seen dad –screaming in pain or rage or _something–_ Whatever effect heaven had on him wasn't working now, he could barely keep himself from leaping off the chair and running to the girl, demanding that she tell him where Dave was.

Or maybe it was working, keeping him in his chair like a good boy. “Oh. Well, you see. It’s complicated, you know, I–I tried, I–” He sputtered as dad dabbed shaving cream in his mouth, completely without remorse. “–did, but–”

“You were poisoning yourself.”

“Well, what did you expect? You’d just died, I was beside myself with grief.”

“Don’t you dare try to use me as an excuse for your weakness.” 

Trying very hard not to feel like a chatisied child, he struggled to spit out his own venom, “Oh, right, well yeah, you had nothing to do with it. Kidnapping me and killing me over and over? No, you’re right, it’s irrelevant.”

Dad sighed, irritated, frustrated, with him, as he always was, and that was enough to make him flinch away when Reginald moved the knife closer to his face. That horrible week was still fresh in his memory. “Ah–ah–ah–ah, careful, dad.”

“Don’t worry. You’re already dead.”

“Oh,” Back to feeling nothing, and he kinda missed the feeling of stillness he had felt when he first arrived here, but eternal peace was probably overrated. “Well, that’s a relief.”

“You children like to blame everything on me.”

“Well, you _were_ a sadistic prick. Not to mention the world's worst father.” The scrape of the blade against his skin only served to make him tense up, and he desperately tried to stop himself thinking about how easily he could drive the razor into his throat, testing to see what would happen to him if he died in the afterlife.

“I just wanted you all to live up to your potential. You especially.” He shook his head at him, as if he couldn’t even understand why he was bothering to talk to him, “You’re my greatest disappointment, Number Four. You only scratched the surface of what you were truly capable of.”

No, he didn’t want to listen to this, he didn’t want to hear his father justify _killing_ his child over and over, ignoring his cries, his pleas for help. He didn’t _care_ about any potential he had, he just wanted to have Dave and Ben and not have to worry about the thousands of other ghosts who wanted to use him, like everyone but his brother and boyfriend did. 

His father continued, uncaring. “No, instead you pump yourself full of poison because you’re afraid of what? The dark?”

“You know the dark is the least of my worries, dear papa. You never had our best interests at heart. Just look at your precious Number One! He found all of the unopened letters he sent you, he knows that you sent him up to the moon for nothing.”

Reginald stopped, staring at him with something like… regret? “That was foolish of me.” Klaus stared, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I should have burned it all.”

The fact that he was actually fooled for a slight second made him laugh, “ _That’s_ your takeaway? Oh, wow, yeah, of course it is.”

Dad suddenly gripped his hair tightly, pulling his head to one side, and he flinched, expecting a blow to come at any second. Reginald did nothing but continue shaving the other side of his face, and he breathed deeply, attempting to calm his jack-rabbiting heart.

“Not an ideal solution, I confess. But I knew that the world would soon need him, need all of you, and I had to do what was necessary.”

Klaus stayed quiet, and dad made to shave his cheek, before stopping. “Is he okay?”

“Do you care?” he shot back, and Reginald stared at him, probably unused to Klaus being so confronting. Before, he’d just struggle and whine and that was it. Well, sucks to be him, Klaus was an adult now, and whatever Reginald wanted to do to him he could at least put up a hell of a fight.

“Everything i did, everything i put you through, was to prepare you, all of you, for something bigger than yourselves. You never understood that.”

“We were–” His voice broke off, a mixture of the razor getting too close to his windpipe, and the whole conversation weighing heavily on his words. He grabbed his father’s hand, pulling the razor away from his skin, and shockingly, dad let him. “We were just kids. Little kids,” He whispered.

“You were never just kids. You were meant to save the world.” He continued shaving, as if their interaction had meant nothing to him, and it probably didn’t.

“Wait, you were always talking about the fate of the world, but how did you even know about it?”

“I knew that I had to bring you all back together, one way or another. The world depended on it.” There was something dark underlining his voice, something he was hiding, and it made his gut clench.

“Wha– i don't understand, what are you saying?”

Reginald pulled back, keeping a tight grip on Klaus’ hair so he would make eye contact. Klaus had never felt so much like a little child than he did now. “The only way to get you all back together, was something momentous.”

He slowly drew the razor across his neck, and wasn’t that fucking hilarious? His father’s torture, killing him, and being the stuff of his nightmares for years, and he died from the very thing he’d tortured klaus with. He couldn’t help but let out a wild laugh, that only got louder at Reginald’s insulted glare. Something dripped off his face, and _wow_ , was he crying for the guy? He had no idea how he felt, just something like despair that was tight in his chest and gut and it made him laugh like a hyena.

“Oh, my god– you don’t mean– you _killed_ yourself?”

His father let out a hum of conformation, and Klaus huffed out a laugh, “Oh, christ. You could never do things the easy way, could you? You couldn’t have picked up a phone?”

“Would you have answered?” Klaus didn’t respond. Tired of talking about the top ten reasons his kids needed therapy, he continued, “Now, listen to me, Number Four. What I’m about to say is of great importance–”

He vanished suddenly, and Klaus felt something start to pull him back, the living. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no. I can’t– no, I can't!” He yelled, to anyone, the little girl, god, whatever force that was making him leave. “No, don’t make me go back! I still need to see Dave! You promised I'd get to see Dave! No! Wait!”

* * *

Air swept into his lungs without his consent and he nearly fell forward as he sat up, his body desperately trying to escape something it wasn’t trapped in. Physically, at least. The ravers were staring at him awkwardly, sporting varying expressions of horror and confusion, but they didn’t matter, Luther could be in trouble.

“Klaus! Oh my god, are you okay?”

He ignored Ben, searching the crowd for his oversized brother. “Luther! Luther!”

“The bouncer kicked him out,” Ben, or some random raver spoke up, and he made for the door, the crowd parting around him as if they were pushed away by some physical force. Maybe they were, Klaus didn’t know, nor did he care. He just wanted to leave this shitty place and go home.

Exiting the doors, it was clear that his brother was long gone. The bouncer had pointed to some fuck-off street when Klaus had asked where Luther was, and there was no sign of Luther’s hulking frame when he had managed to convince himself to stand up straight to search for him. His brother had left. Had abandoned him.

A wave of hurt that he was entirely unused to feeling hit him so hard that he staggered, but that might just be the withdrawal. And dying.

“Klaus! What the hell happened back there? That’s at least the third time you’ve died in the past few days.”

 _In the past year, you mean and it was a lot more than a few times_ , he thought, but he didn’t bother to articulate. He was _tired_. Right down to his bones, and all he wanted to do was get high and sleep.

With only one of his options available, he started to stagger on the way home, even as his head throbbed in protest. If he stopped though, he couldn't trust himself not to give in and find his dealer. He needed to keep going.

“Where are you going? The bouncer said Luther went that way.”

“I’m going back to the academy.”

“What? Why? You can’t just abandon him like that.”

“Even after he choked and pushed me? Literally left me for dead?” Ben blinked, as if he had already forgotten, and _wow,_ he was really something else was he? All that mattered to him was his perception of the world and nothing else, and the thought made him bend down to Ben’s height, speaking slowly and clearly, just like Ben hated. “Ben. Luther and the others _do not care about me_. Maybe they love me, maybe they used to care about me, but they don’t anymore. Got it? Remember that, because I'm getting really tired of reminding you.”

Ben was crying, staring at him in shock as Klaus waited for his response, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to dig a hole and die. “You’re so fucking stupid,” Ben whispered.

“What?”

“You’re an idiot! Do you really think the others don’t care about you? Diego spent all day chasing you as you had a pity party! Five is trying to save the world for us, and…”

“And? And, what? You can’t remember anyone other than Diego caring about me, right? And no, Five doesn’t count. I’m sure if I died, hell, if any one of us died, he wouldn’t bother going back in time for us.”

“That’s not true!” Poor Ben was full on crying now, but Klaus couldn’t stop. Ben _needed_ to hear this, and maybe Klaus did as well.

“Well, he didn’t do it for you, did he? And–”

“Stop it! Just _stop_!” Ben screamed, honest to god screamed, and made to push him, and Klaus braced himself for the sensation of ghostly hands in his chest.

Only to be hit by something solid, and land flat on his ass.

They stared at each other in shock, Ben frozen, arms stuck outstretched where he touched Klaus, actually _touched_ him, hard enough to push him over, judging by his tailbone throbbing in protest to its sudden acquaintance with the sidewalk.

“Did… did you just push me?”


	16. Chapter 16

“Shit. Okay, this time try throwing something to me.”

“Stop it, this isn’t working.”

“Why aren’t you excited? Isn’t this the stuff of your dreams?” He slowly lowered his stuffed unicorn–formerly stuffed with drugs so it was more of a limp piece of cloth now– down, staring at Ben incredulously. After they had confirmed that _yes, Ben did actually touch him, and no, they weren’t sharing a hallucination from the contact high they must have received in the rave–_ It was a mad dash to recreate the results. Ben had tentatively tried to grab him, push him, even punch him at one point, but all he did was make Klaus shudder. 

Ben shrugged, looking every part like the sullen teen he died as. “Look, can’t we just go to sleep and deal with this tomorrow? I’m tired.”

Klaus held back from pointing out that Ben _couldn’t_ get tired, much less sleep, and he stepped forward, sitting in front of where Ben was cross legged on the floor. “Are you still mad at me?”

“Well, you didn’t even apologise.”

“You know i didn't mean what I said, right?”

“ _Yes you did._ The others really don’t care about us. If they did, they would know I'm here, and you wouldn’t even have gone to Vietnam in the first place, because they would’ve actually noticed that you were gone.”

The truth hit him like a blow, but struggled to slip into his brain, poisoning him, because no matter how much Klaus knew it was true, he suddenly wanted to deny it with everything he had.

“No, no, that’s not true.” Ben looked at him. “It _isn’t_. It’s–look–I–” he sighed, throat tightening like the rumour was trying to choke him again, but he realised that he was just trying to hold back tears. Odd how similar the pain was. 

“You know it’s true.” Ben's voice came out small, miserable, and if Klaus closed his eyes he could imagine that Ben was alive, talking about the Horror or their training or whatever horrible thing that was prominent in their lives back then. He did just that. “You can’t even think of any reasons why it isn’t.”

He shuddered out a sigh, so deep and world-weary that he almost thought it came from someone else. “Dave cared.” he said forlornly, fingering his tags. If Dave was here, he would’ve helped him stop Luther, maybe even be successful. A wave of feeling washed over him that he couldn’t drink away and tightened his fingers on the tag, the metal cutting into his palm.

“I don’t even know Dave.” Ben sounded so resigned, so defeated, that he opened his eyes, taking in his brother. As usual, the blood dripped off of his body, wetting Klaus’ carpet though he knew that as soon as Ben would move the stain would disappear. His intestines spilled out of his gut, a cruel mockery of the Horror that had taken his life, and his eyes–

His eyes were alive, they were sane, and they were miserable. And Klaus wanted nothing more than to wipe that look from his brother’s face. 

“Then let me tell you about him.”

* * *

Ben was still… conflicted about Dave, he guessed. He didn’t know. After their argument earlier during the day, when Klaus was flushing his drugs, he was more upset than he remembered being in a long, long, time. He didn’t think it was entirely to do with Dave, he was just the straw that broke the camel’s back. After so many years of following Klaus around and trying to keep him alive so he wouldn’t ever have to see him die again ever– he had become used to a constant thrum of anxiety about Klaus’ wellbeing that he honestly didn’t even notice it anymore.

_“I was–I ended up in Vietnam, 1968, the combination code I tried on the briefcase. Hey, good thing I didn't take your advice and go to 0000, remember?”_

He was, he was sickenly glad that Klaus didn’t take his advice and he was torn in between thinking it was all his fault and he should have been more suspicious, to being so happy that Klaus ignored him, and had at least ended up in _that_ year and found somebody, who apparently, cared about him.

_“Dave was, he was kind and strong and vulnerable, and beautiful. And dead. That’s why I'm trying to get sober, I need to find a way to conjure him and I can't do that if I’m not sober.”_

But he had never experienced this much stress and anxiety all in such a short period of time over Klaus. First, his brother had gotten kidnapped, then killed, then went missing, and then came back a totally different person, and then, you guessed it, he died again. Though he knew it wasn’t a short period of time to Klaus. He’d spent ten months in Vietnam, but not alone like Ben was, no, he had Dave, he had Dave to love him and protect him and die for him. He supposed he should feel grateful, or at least pleased that Klaus had finally found someone who didn’t hurt him. But he didn't, the sick feeling of jealousy refused to leave, and he was far too exhausted to figure out why.

He glanced over at where Klaus had slumped onto the floor, having passed out from exhaustion mid-sentence, and he wondered what had happened that let him push Klaus earlier.

Klaus was insistent that Ben was the one to have done it all by himself, which he supposed made sense, there had been cases of ghosts making themselves corporeal long before Klaus was born.

Staring at the unicorn that Klaus was holding loosely in his hand, he focused his… energy? Something that might let him interact with the real world. It was difficult, as the only power he’d ever felt was the frightening, wild feeling the Horror had brought, and he had his suspicions that it wasn’t even his power in the first place, he was just a doorway for the Horror, and that would explain why he hadn’t felt the Horror since he’d died. Can’t be a portal if you don't have a body, after all.

Still, he stared, and he tried to conjure up the memory of what it felt like to be _real,_ to be something close to alive all of the sudden. The coolness of the night air, oxygen freezing his throat as his lungs expanded and for the first since he died, brought air down into his body. His hands flaring up in pain as they roughly hit Klaus’ chest–the first time in years he’d been able to feel anything, it had happened so quickly, and it was so different to the hallow emptiness his death had suddenly felt in comparison, that he wondered how he could ever forgot he was dead.

It was horribly overwhelming, jolting his system like nothing else had, and he focused on it, staring at the limp unicorn as if it had murdered him. 

He reached, and his fingers went through, accidently hitting Klaus’ fingers and making him shudder in his sleep. 

Disappointment crushed him, and though he should have guessed it, should have _known_ it, he still screwed his eyes shut and pressed his fists against them until he saw stars. God, he was so stupid, letting himself blindly chase after an impossible dream like that. With their luck, Klaus would probably never figure out what made Ben tangible enough to push him, and Ben would stay like this forever. Dead.

He would never get used to that, being dead. Time stood still for him, and the years he spent with Klaus simultaneously felt like forever and only a few months ago. Time constantly felt like it was slipping through his fingers and this past week had done nothing but amplify that. His siblings had all grown up without him, no one cared about them like they used too, not even Klaus, his only constant, was the same.

_“And I tried, Ben, I really did, I tried to get back to you, the fact that I couldn't was eating me alive–”_

And he knew that Klaus couldn’t help it, knew that Klaus tried to get back to him, but he still felt betrayed anyway. Klaus was supposed to look after him, and he failed. But they worked it out now, they weren't supposed to argue anymore, they weren’t supposed to still be angry. Hands over his chest in an attempt to squash down the ugly feelings that flared whenever he caught sight of Klaus and he stepped through the door, looking out into the hallway. 

Empty, as usual, aside from the ghosts, and it was because of them that he didn’t immediately notice the sounds coming from somewhere in the house. It sounded almost like groaning, like someone was hurt, so cautiously, he stepped forward, vaguely in the direction where the sound was coming from. 

After a few steps, it was clear that it was coming from Luthers’ room. Was he already back? That would be great, that meant that they wouldn’t have to continue the search in the morning and ask Diego or Five to help. Ben would rather _not_ hear them yell and blame Klaus for ‘corrupting Luther’ once they came to the wrong conclusion, as they usually did, he thought bitterly. At least he remembered that the others didn’t care about them anymore, and Ben was pretty sure that it probably wasn’t good to feel a little bit of pride that he remembered for once.

Still, if Luther was back then the sounds must mean he was groaning in pain, he must have hurt himself somehow, and then dragged himself here instead of calling for help like the idiot that he was. Ben sighed, almost fondly, before stepping through the door, already formulating plans on how to get Klaus to wake up so he could patch up Luther, only to freeze once he stepped though, eyes wide and blank, barely taking in the scene before him.

What.

Oh. 

Oh, _god._

Sprinting back out like the devil was on his heels he fell on his knees on the floor and hid his face in his hands, face so red that it almost matched the blood that dripped off of jt. _God_ was Luther– was he–!? Holy fucking _christ_ Ben had never even _thought_ that Luther was even cabable of… activities, like that, and now it was seared in his brain. 

He had to tell Klaus immediately.

“Klaus!” He yelled, running into his brother’s room and rapidly waving his hands through Klaus’ arm, causing a violent shudder.

“Wah- Ben? Ben, what’s happening, who’s dying?”

“Luther!” he screamed, too shocked to articulate himself properly. Klaus slowly blinked. 

“Luther’s dying?”

“It’s–he’s– remember the girl who he was dancing with before?”

Klaus froze. “You don’t mean to tell me– he’s popped his cherry?” Ben's bright red face –for once, not because of the blood– was enough of an answer, and he burst out laughing, almost falling back on the ground with the force of it.

It occured to Ben that this was the first time he heard Klaus laugh in days, and eventually Klaus’ laughter infected him, and he started to laugh along hesitantly.

“Oh my god! Poor Ben– that’s traumatised you forever! And it was with the girl who’s man killed me?”

Ben nodded slowly. Having been busy desperately trying to revive Klaus after having lost him the _third_ time the last few days, he hadn’t been paying attention to anything else but Klaus since that horrible _crack_ echoed around the room despite there being blaring music all around them. The idea that Luther didn’t even notice Klaus die, or worse yet, just didn’t care, made him curl up as his stomach clenched.

“ _Wow_. Not sure you can get lower than that, and his first time too! Forget the moon, Luther was clearly meant for high school dramas all along.”

Ben shrugged, uncomfortable with his last line of thought. Klaus looked at him for a while clucked his tongue.

“Whelp! Put your hands up Benny, it’s time for patty cake!” Ben slowly put his hands up, wincing when Klaus moved his hands through them and made himself shudder.

“Didn’t you just wake up? You should be going back to sleep.” 

“Nope! Luther losing the big v shocked me out of anything that even remotely looks like sleep, so we might as well be productive.”

This time Ben moved his hands forwards as Klaus tried to clap his hands. Nothing happened, obviously, and it was probably wishful thinking on his part that he felt the slightest pressure when Klaus moved his hands through him.

Probably.

* * *

Klaus let out a particularly violent shudder when Ben's arms passed through his. “Try again, I definitely almost think I felt something that time.”

“Can we _please_ take a break? We’ve been doing this for hours and it’s boring.”

“Come on, just one more. Just one more game.”

“You said that the last five times,” Ben muttered, but still put his hands up to play another round of patty cake. While Ben's only protest was that he was bored, Klaus was having a significantly different experience. His arms ached from holding them up for so long and withdrawal still wracked his body, the morning sun doing nothing but exacerbate his head ache.

But he wasn’t giving up, he could almost _feel_ the little shred of the power that he’d felt when he had escaped the mausoleum, when he escaped from dad. But every time he tried to grab it, to use it, it wiggled away, just out of reach, and Klaus knew that if he stopped it would take ages to get it back again. He just needed to keep going.

The other ghouls in the room were also _very_ interested in their game. It was one thing to meet someone who could see you after years of being invisible. It was another to find out that they could make you real again. They were loud, grunting and yelling, and trying to interfere with his and Ben's game to see if he could touch them, making him flinch every time. After so long of either only seeing them out of the corners of his eye or being completely incacipapted with the strengths of their screams, only able to think about the _drugs, the drugs would make them go away please just go away–_ seeing them and just going about his day was strange, he couldn’t even do anything to quiet them down a little. It was like when he was a kid again, before he broke his jaw and discovered the wonderful world of drugs. There would just have to be a readjustment period.

Without warning, Five suddenly burst into his room, uncaring of the fact that he just made Klaus jump right out of his skin.

“Christ on a–” he cut himself off, abruptly remembering the _last_ time he’d said that particular little phrase. “I mean… What the hell Five? What are you doing here?

“Get up, we’re going.”

“Where?”

“To save the world.” Ben huffed a laugh at the nochlonant way Five said that, like they were just going grocery shopping. Well, no reason not to keep that ball rolling, Klaus sighed and lowered his arms.

“Oh is that all? Great.” He got up to put on some new clothes, his current ones were dirty and smelled of the withdrawal sweats. Ew. 

After a pause, Klaus could hear from the footsteps behind him that Five was pacing “I've been thinking.” He said, “Don’t you think it’s weird that dad happened to die a week before the apocalypse?”

Klaus hesitated. That _is_ a bit weird, how did he even know when to kill himself in the first place? Five only knew about the apocalypse because he time travelled.

“Yeah, how _did_ he know?”

Five stopped, and Klaus turned to look at him, shirt half-on. ”How did he know what?”

Klaus froze. He _did_ tell Five about last night, right? But to be fair, he was upset and delirious and his and Ben's discovery kinda took precedence over everything else.

“ _Klaus._ How did he know what?”

“I told you about what I did last night right?” Five glared, obviously unhappy at the seemingly unrelated question but he shook his head anyway. Klaus took that to mean, _okay you idiot, you have five minutes to talk and then i’m gonna stab you._ Well, the stabbing was more Diego’s scene, but close enough. “I died. And I went to the… afterlife? Something like that. Anyways, I met dad.”

Five paused, deliberating. Deciding whether or not to believe Klaus, undoubtedly. Klaus resisted the urge to look at Ben for moral support and continued before Five could shoot him down. “He gave me the usual lectures about my appearance and failures in life, and my hidden potential that I won't harness, yada, yada. No surprise there, not even the afterlife could soften a hardass like dad, right?”

Five scowled. “Get to the point.”

“Right, so as we were talking, he mentioned something about his murder, or lack thereof. Because…”

“Wait for it.” Ben helpfully chimed in.

“He killed himself.”

“Boom.” Ben called out when Five didn’t immediately respond.

“Wait. So you died, and came back?”

He held back a laugh at that. Right, basically no one knew about dad kidnapping him. And killing him. Over and over and over and over. “I have been known to do that.”

“How do i know you aren’t lying?”

“What reason would I have to lie? Look, I'm sober! You can check my room if you want, I'm clean! I just had bad luck last night and I ended up seeing dad is all.” Five looked away and ran a hand through his hair, and Klaus was going to start on more frantic pleads to believe him until Five spoke.

“Shit. This just complicates things. How the hell would he even know when to kill himself?”

“Well, I don’t know, but this isn’t new. Remember how when we were kids he told us that we’d save the world from an impending apocalypse?”

“I thought he just told us that to scare us into doing the dishes.”

“Yeah, same! But it can’t be a coincidence that it’s actually happening now, can it?”

“Shit,” Five said again, and he crossed his arms, thinking. “I can’t believe it, but you might be right.” He didn’t bother to reiterate that he _was_ right, he talked to dad himself, and half heartedly started looking for his shoes as he listened to Five starting up his pacing again. “But if dad killed himself then that means he deliberately timed it so that we would be here a week before the apocalypse, but how did the old man know it was going to happen in the first place?”

“No idea. He didn’t say.”

“Well, the fact remains that his fakakta plan worked. We all came home. We’re here so we might as well save the world.”

“Ooh, like the two of us?” 

“Three of us.” Ben corrected, loathe to be ignored as always. Klaus shot him an apologetic look as Five continued talking, oblivious of the third person in the room.

“Well, not ideally, no, but gotta work with what i’ve got.” He huffed out a sarcastic laugh at that, sliding on his coat, only to nearly bump into Diego as he came running out of nowhere. “Where have you been?” Five snapped. 

“Out. Where's Luther?”

Five answered, “I haven’t seen him since last night.”

“ _I_ have. Ben muttered, and Klaus made a valiant effort to hold back a laugh.

“Shit.” Diego came back out, clipping on his knife harness. He straightened up to face them. “Allison is in danger.”

**Author's Note:**

> I will be trying to post weekly, since most of the fic is already typed up but who knows what will happen 😔 comment to give me serotonin


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